Agony
by Devil917
Summary: A collection of requested one-shots. Mostly Sick!Sam, Limp!Sam, Hurt!Sam, whatever. But I can do Dean stuff, too. But request something, I'll take a shot at anything. Please read and review ! REQUEST ARE ALWAYS TAKEN! REQUEST SOMETHING!
1. Clueless

**This is just a little one-shot, someone requested, so I figured I'd give it a try. I'm taking requests, if anyone has a suggestion for a one-shot you'd like to see me write. Anyway, enjoy...**

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Dean grew impatient. He didn't know what to do. He stared out the window, wishing somehow his father's car would pull up in front of the Motel room and everything would be okay. If he knew what to do everything would be okay. But that's the problem: Dean didn't know what to do.

Letting the dirty Motel curtain fall close, Dean turned back around and turned his attention back to Sam. He was lying on the couch, too weak to move to the bed. His hair was matted down to his forehead with a temperature of 102.3. He was curled up in a ball like it was freezing outside. But he was sweating like he was lying in a desert.

Dean crouched down on the floor next to his brother. If Dean were older, he would know what to do. If Dean were older. he'd have Sam fixed in no time. If Dean were older, Sam wouldn't be like this. But Dean was only eleven, and he was clueless.

Sam moaned, rolling back over to his back. He opened his mouth and called out for Dean. Dean; the only person left to care for him.

Thinking quickly, Dean rested his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"I'm right here, Sam," he said as comfortably as he could.

Sam's shaky, sweaty hand reached out and touched the top of his, confirming Dean's statement.

"It's r-really h-hot, Dean," Sam complained, wiping the sweat away from his eyes.

Dean shook his head, at a loss of how to take care of this.

"I turned the thermometer down to fifty. The room will be cold soon. You'll feel better then," the older brother informed. He bit his lower lip, hoping that what he's saying is correct. He didn't want Sam like this anymore.

Closing his eyes, and gripping his sweat soaked head, Sam moaned. It felt like he was being burned alive. Everything on his was about ten times hotter than normal. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He didn't even know how to explain it.

"Sam?" Dean calls, hearing his brother cry out.

Sam doesn't answer though. Instead, he rolls his body toward Dean and lets out an exhausted sigh. He sniffles, trying not to cry, but finding it impossible. He couldn't help it. He felt horrible.

"Am I broken, Dean?" Sam cries. He opens his bloodshot eyes and looks at his brother, letting him know he expects an honest answer.

Dean looks away. Not really knowing what to say. How was he supposed to know? Sam's been sick, but he's never been sick like this before.

Dean shakes his head. "'Course you're not broken, Sam."

Sam runs his tiny hand across his face. More tears escape his eyes. "You sure?"

Nodding, Dean replies, "Yeah. You're just sick. You'll be okay."

Finding that answer simple enough to understand, Sam half nods and turns away. He tucks his arm under his head and bring his legs up to his chest.

Standing, Dean searches the room. His eyes fall in the white rotating fan across the room. Jogging, Dean grabs the fan by the base and carries it to the nearest outlet to Sam. Quickly, he plugs it in and adjusts it so it's blowing directly on Sam. The hair in the back of his head, blow gently with the cool air hitting him.

Dean walks over to his brother, leans over the edge of the couch, and touches the side of his cheek.

"Is it helping?" Dean asks, his voice full of hope for a positive reply.

Sam's head lifts slowly. He looks up at Dean. His once sparkly hazel-green eyes have turned dull from the fever. Sam's cheeks were slightly red and his eyes were beginning to become puffy from crying.

"Why is it so hot?" Sam asks, tugging at his shirt that was clinging to his damp body.

Taking that as a no, Dean searches his brain for another solution.

"D'n?' Sam calls, his voice groggy and tired.

Dean walks around to the front of the couch and sits next to his brother.

"Yeah, Sam?"

Sleepily, Sam rubs his eyes. "When's Dad coming back?"

Dean sighed. Not exactly know what the answer to that question was. He shrugged.

"'Bout a week, I guess."

Sam groaned, throwing his fever-hazed head back into the couch. He tugged at the ends of his hair for a second before letting them fall to the couch gently. He lets out a deep breath and rolls to his side.

Dean stands, thinking of another idea. He power walks to the bathroom. He grabs the washcloth off the side of the counter in the bathroom, and the bucket from under the sink. Dean filled the bucket halfway with water as cold as the faucet would allow. Tugging the bucket out of the sink, he hauls it to the table in front of Sam. Before letting the washcloth fall into the water, he took the ice tray from the freezer and let a few ice cubes dissolve into the water, making it even cooler.

"I got a idea, Sammy," Dean says a loud. He dunks the washcloth in the cold water, pushes it down to the bottom, then bring it back up and wrings it out.

"You said you're hot, right? Like, you're skin's hot?"

Sam nodded gently. He mumbled something, but it was too low for Dean to hear. Dean didn't dwell too long on the fact he didn't understand.

He shook the washcloth a couple of times, letting the excess water fall back into the bucket.

"So I figured, if you're skin's hot, why not just put something cold on it to make it cold again, right?"

He puts the cold cloth on Sam's forehead and watches as his brother's face relax.

Dean sits down next to Sam again and puts the cold washcloth through his sweat dampened hair a few times. Then, he lets it stay on his forehead for a while. After a few minutes passed, Dean dunks the washcloth, wrings it out, and then places it back on Sam. This time he runs it across Sam's arms and his neck, too.

A few more seconds pass before Sam opens his eyes again, but just for a second.

"Thank you," he mumbles, as relief floods his body. The heat as finally started to subside. He gently touches the top of Dean's hand.

Feeling proud, Dean lets his hand fall on Sam's leg and he gives it a comforting shake.

"Don't mention it."

Dean stands, he takes the cloth one last time, dunks it, and places it back on Sam.

Before returning to his own bed, Dean ruffles Sam's hair a little.

"Go to sleep, little brother. Everything will be better when you wake up," Dean says in his best big-brother voice. "I promise."

Laying on his bed, Dean smiles.

Sam might've been broken before. But he's not now. Dean had fixed him.

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**Thanks for reading :] I hope you enjoyed it. **

**Please Review. Reviews keep my heart beating!**


	2. Superhero

***Requested by: maxandkiz***

**Summary: What exactly happened that Christmas when John came back after Dean told Sam about John's actual job? Here's what I think…**

"Ho ho ho-" John stopped abruptly when he seen both his boys lying in their beds. Dean was comfortably placed at the edge of his bed, his legs kicked out to the side, sleeping soundly. Sam had positioned himself over his bed sheets. His knees were pulled up to his stomach. His face was slightly red and his eyes had a dark red tint to them, too. Had he been crying?

Leaving his stuff by the door, John walked over to Dean first. He nudged his shoulder a couple of times, till he began to wake.

"G'back to sleep, Sam," he grunted sleepily.

John smiled.

"Dean. It's dad. Wake up, son."

Dean stirred a little but then shot right up like a rocket.

"Dad? Thought you weren't getting back till tomorrow?"

John made a face and smiled. "And miss a Christmas with my boys?"

Dean shrugged. It's not like he hadn't missed a couple of holidays before…

Tugging on his shirt, John made Dean get out of bed.

"Go wake your brother. I have something for you both."

Jogging a little, Dean went to Sam.

"Hey, wake up. C'mon, Sam. Dad's here," he says excitedly.

Sam grunted, rubbed his eyes and looked over to his father.

"Dad?" he says softly, not believing it.

Dean smiled. "Yeah. Told you he'd be here. He's just a little late."

Both boys went and sat on the couch in the front part of the room. Once John was finished digging through his bag, he held to items wrapped in cheap Christmas wrapping. John smiled softly as he handed one to Dean and one to Sam.

"Merry Christmas, boys."

Dean immediately put his present a side. He didn't care much. He wanted to see Sam open his first. But Sam had rested his present in his lap, waiting for Dean to open his first.

Dean shook his head and gestured to the present in Sam's lap. "You go ahead, Sam. I wanna see what you got."

Sam shrugged and tore at his present, dropping his wrapping on the floor.

A white box with the writing _'Daniel Jack's Ultimate Science Kit' _written at the top. Sam smiled.

"I know you're kinda into the science thing, now. So I figured, why not?" John says. He points under the box. "You got one more thing, Sammy. Lift it."

Following his father's order, Sam lifts the box and spots a black jacket under it. He holds it up briefly to show Dean then holds it up in comparison to himself.

"Cool," Dean says, smiling at his brother.

Sam nods then points to Dean's box.

"Go ahead, Dean. I wanna see what you got," Sam says, mimicking his brother's words.

Dean gives him a look, but smiles and begins to open his present.

As soon as he rips the first part he gasped a little. He tore at it until it was fully exposed.

"Thank you, Dad. Really. Thanks," Dean says. He reaches down and begins to open his new BB Gun Rifle.

John ruffles his hair a little. "You're welcome. Nice necklace, by the way."

Dean touches the chair and pendent on his neck. "Sam got it for me."

John smiles. "That was really nice of you, Sam."

After Dean had opened his Rifle, loaded the BB Gun bullets and took aim a couple of times, John had grabbed the top of it and shook his head. "Not inside, kiddo. No shooting your brother, either."

Dean smiled a little.

John stood and walked back over to his bag. "One last thing for you guys."In his hand he held two walkie-talkies. He handed on Sam and one to Dean and shrugged.

"Figured it'll give you guys something to do for a while. Who knows? Maybe you'll make up a game out of it or something."

Sam put his down first and looked at Dean for a second.

"How was work, Dad?"

John shrugged, sitting on the coffee table in front of them. "Work was work. Why?"

Sam shrugged. He could feel Dean's eyes staring at him. He could hear him mentally screaming for him to shut up.

"I just wondering…what exactly do you do?"

John shook his head.

"I sell stuff, Sam. Dean told you."

Sam looks over at Dean who mouths 'shut up' to him, his eyes angry. Of course, Sam doesn't.

"Dean says you fight bad stuff. Like monsters."

John immediately rolls his head toward Dean who has bowed his head, not wanting to see the look in his father's eyes.

"Dean-"

"So are you really a superhero?" Sam asks, curiously.

John bites his lower lip.

"Uh-"

"I'm sorry, Dad," Dean says softly.

Sam stands. "Don't me mad at Dean, Dad. I read your journal and was curious. I made him tell me-"

"You read my journal?" John yelled.

Both Dean and Sam flinched.

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he answers in a gently voice. "I'm sorry."

John looked over at Dean who still had his head down. Within seconds he calmed himself.

"Sam-"

"I'm old enough now, Dad. You can tell me.. I can handle it."

John nodded. "I know you can."

Sam rubs his nose. "What about monster and stuff? They real?"

John nods again. "Yeah, they're real. But they can't get you Sam. I'm not going to let them, okay?"

Sighing, Sam looked away. "Like they got Mom?"

It was clear to see John was taken aback by that question. He wasn't expecting that. He didn't expect Dean to have told him that much.

Shaking his head, John says, "They're not going to get you, Sam." he points over to Dean who had not picked his head up and is listening to the conversation. "They're not going to get Dean, either."

Sam scratches his head. "But what about you? What if they get you? I mean, if they can get Mom, they can get you. And if they can get you they can get us, right?"

Dean patted his shoulder. "I told you. Dad's going to make sure everything's okay. No one- nothing's going to hurt us. Why do you think we're always at motels? It's so the monsters can't follow us. Right, Dad?"

John smiled a little. "That's one way of looking at it."

The room was quiet for a while. It was apparent that Sam had more questions. Who wouldn't. But it seemed like he was waiting on the right moment. John was honestly planning to answer all of them. No matter what. Like he said, Sam was old enough now. He deserves to know the truth about the family business. He was going to find out sooner or later, anyway.

Sam opens his mouth. Another question popped into his head.

"So are you?" Sam asks his eyes shining.

John looks at him questioningly. "Am I what?"

Sam smiles a little. "Are you a superhero?"

John laughs and so does Dean. "You bet your ass I'm a superhero."

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**Thanks for the request. Please show support and review!**


	3. Empty

**_*Requested By: Rit. Sam* (sorry i had to write it like this because my computer wouldn't let me write it the way you have it. i don't know why)_**

**Summary : Sam has a problem with eating and it turns very, very serious in a matter of days. limp!Sam. Enjoy...**

**_I take all requests so just send a message or leave it in your review !_**

Two days, eleven hours and fifty nine minutes. Almost three days since Sam has eaten. Shockingly, he didn't miss it at first. He thought he would. But he didn't. It was weird, actually. He kind of enjoyed it. It made him feel 'light', weightless even. With John gone…he just didn't care.

Sam sat at the desk in the motel room. A single light from the small desk lamp illuminated his face and his laptop. In his hand, a pen lapped almost silently against the notepad. The page was blank. The cap was on his pen. There was no windows open on his computer. He just sat there.

Behind him, Dean slept peacefully. He had nagged Sam a few hours ago to go to bed, but each time Sam answered the same. "I will."

But he hadn't.

He couldn't.

Something inside him wouldn't allow that.

Being awake when you knew you should be asleep. Something about that interested Sam. His stomach churned, begging him to eat something. Anything. But he simply refused. At this point, food didn't even interest Sam anymore. Not even the smell. If anything, it sickened him.

Dean rolled over, pushing the pillow from his face and looking at Sam.

"Dude," he says, his voice scratchy. "How many times do I have to tell you? Go to bed, man. We're heading out in the morning." Dean looks over to the clock by his bed.

1:21 am it read.

"Scratch that," he says. "It's already morning."

Sam doesn't reply. Instead, he keeps tapping the pen in a constant movement.

"You listening to me?"

Sam blinks hard. His vision was blurry. His breathing turned rugged and his body was hot. He breathed out hard, just to make sure he still could. He felt his heart beat loudly in his ears. It was a slow beating. Too slow. Sam bit his lip and tried to calm himself but found it impossible. Something was wrong. Really wrong.

By now, Dean had kicked the covers off himself and swung his feet over the side of the bed, letting them come in contact with the cold floor.

"Sam?" he calls again, getting worried.

By now, Sam's clutching his stomach. He feels like he could hurl any second but he knows that's impossible. There's nothing in it to throw up. Sam's mouth grew watery, his eyes heavier, his breathing more rapid.

Feeling his whole body jerk, he turned to the side and attempted to throw up.

Nothing.

His stomach was empty, but obviously it didn't get that memo because his body jerked again, attempting to empty his already empty stomach.

Dean jumped up, grabbing Sam's shoulders as he leaned farther and farther over in the chair each time his body jerked.

"Whoa, Sam. What's wrong?" Dean asks, sitting him back up in the chair but not letting go of his shoulders.

Again, Sam jerked forward. His dry heaves were getting worse, sending a white hot pain through his stomach. He groaned at the pain and leaned further into Dean. Momentarily, he rested his head on Dean shoulder before Dean shrugged it off, trying to get him to speak.

"Sam? Can you hear me? Sam!" Dean calls, shaking Sam.

Sam see Dean. Barely. He was blurry. Like his whole body was made out of fireworks. Sam's eyes were getting heavier, black dots were forming at the sides. He couldn't help it. Suddenly, he was tired and welcomed sleep with open arms. He felt Dean shaking him frantically, but it didn't bother him.

"Sam! Sammy? Open your eyes. Sam, open your eyes!" Dean commanded. But Sam had no intent of listening. His eyes slipped closed and everything went black.

Dean felt as Sam's body went limp, falling into him more. Sam's head rested on Dean's neck, his hair brushing against Dean's lips as he spoke to him.

"Sam wake up! Sam?"

Pulling him out of the chair, Dean rested Sam on the ground and grabbed his cell phone.

"_911 emergency. How may I help you?"_

Dean shook his head trying to clear it.

"M-my brother. He passed out. I don't know what wrong with him. I need an ambulance. Please, hurry!"

"_Calm down, sir. Help is already on it's way. Now please, tell me what happened."_

Dean took in a deep breath and got on his knees next to Sam, shaking him every now and again.

"I was sleep. I rolled over and I seen him sitting at the desk. I told him to go to bed. He didn't answer me so I stood up and walked over to him. He looked sick, like...like… I don't know…"

"_Sir, then what happened?"_

Dean shook Sam's shoulder. "Help's coming, Sam. Just hold on, okay? You're gonna be alright."

"_Sir?"_

"Uh- I was taking to him, you know? Trying to see what was wrong but he wouldn't answer me. His eyes looked glazed, he looked really tired. I don't know what made him this way.."

In the distance the siren of the ambulance could be heard.

"_Sir, I was told that help is about a block away. Would you like me to stay on the line with you until they arrive?"_

Dean shook his head.

"No. Thank you."

Then he hung up.

Dean dropped the phone and lifted Sam into his arms, resting Sam's back on his outstretched legs and letting Sam's head fall on his stomach. He rested his index finger on Sam's neck, felling his faint but rapid pulse. At the moment, Dean didn't care how it felt, he just thanked God he still had one.

There was a loud bang on the door and three paramedics rushed in.

"What's his name?" the woman's paramedic's first question.

The two men pulled Dean's legs from under Sam and helped him stand.

"Sam," Dean answers, watching the woman carefully.

She crouches down near Sam's face and call his name.

"Sam? Sam, can you hear me?" she calls. She takes a small flashlight and shines it into his eyes.

She looks up at the two men she came with and shook her head. "Unresponsive."

Taking that as a cue, one man reaches outside the door and pulls in a stretcher. They count to three lift his limp body onto the bed and roll him toward the back of the ambulanced. They count again and lift him into the back. Dean hops in and they're off.

The put an oxygen mask on Sam's face and runs a few wires into his arm and one into his index finger.

The male paramedic sat next to Dean and patted his shoulder.

"Your brother's going to be okay."

-**"**-

_**The next day…**_

Dean walks into Sam's room, finding him sitting up.

"So he's alive and kicking," Dean says like an announcer.

Sam smirks but doesn't say anything.

Dean sits down next to Sam.

"Sam we gotta talk," Dean says. His voice getting serious.

"What?" Sam asks, his voice scratchy.

Dean rubbed the back of his hand. "The doctor told me why you passed out like that."

Sam began to say something but Dean cut him off. "Why weren't you eating, Sam?"

Silence.

"Sam-"

"I don't know."

Dean makes a face. "You don't know why you just _forgot_ to eat something yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that…"

"Okay, Dean. I get it. Don't make it worse."

Dean sighs. "I'm not trying to, Sammy. But this is serious. You can't do that, man. You have to eat."

"I know."

"You can't run on empty all the time."

"I know."

Dean shrugs. "If you know all of this then why'd you do it?"

Sam doesn't answer, but he doesn't have to. Dean already knows. It's their father's death. Sam's been taking it hard, and Dean knew that. But he had no idea it was that serious. In a way, Dean blames himself. How can he not notice that Sam wasn't eating? Sure he asked a couple of times, but Sam always said he had something while Dean was out and before he didn't have a reason not to believe him. But now he's not sure if he can trust him when it comes to that anymore.

"I'll tell you one thing," Dean says, placing his hand on Sam's shoulder. "You ever pull a stunt like that I'll-"

"You'll what?" Sam cuts in, smiling very slightly. "You'll kill me?"

Dean shakes his head. "Not funny."

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**Please review!**

**Send requests, too. I'll take a shot at pretty much anything. They must be one-shot plot lines though :]**


	4. Drugged

_***Requested By : NetMyne01***_

**Thanks so much for the request. Send requests people! No matter how crazy, sad, serious, tragic, or comical. I'll take a shot at anything. **

**Summary: Sam's got stomach pains that turn out the be caused by appendicitis, which leads to him having surgery. **

_Sam bent over in pain. He squeezed his eyes together and put his hand over his stomach. He took in slow deep breaths, hoping it would go away. But it didn't. It radiated like a white hot light all around his stomach and then seem to swell on the left side. _

"_Ah, damn it," Sam curses. He drops his head on his arm and grunts. He hears footsteps behind him and then a hand on his back. _

"_Stomach again?"_

_Sam nods. _

"_Well how bad?" Dean asks. _

_Another strong pain shoots through his stomach, causing Sam to call out. Seconds after he feels Dean rubbing small circles on his back. _

"_Just ride it out, man. It'll pass."_

_Sam moans as the pain increases. He bites his lip, trying not to cry out. _

_"It'll go away, Sam. Fight it. They pain will go away."_

_Taking his brother's advice, Sam tried to fight it. In his mind he kicked it, punched it, for heaven's sake he threw it off a cliff. But no matter how long or how hard he tried, the pain stuck with him. Kicking his ass,, needless to say. Sam doubled over again. The pain was all over. _

_"It'll go away soon, Sam."_

_Too bad Dean was wrong, right? _

_The pain didn't go away. If anything, it got worse. His stomach felt like it was on fire, crumbling, and then disintegrating. In pain words: it hurt like hell. _

_After a few minutes of this torture, Dean must've either got too tired of seeing his brother in pain or too worried because he says. "Hold on. We're going to the hospital."_

_Sam hated hospitals. Dean knew that. But he wasn't going to let him suffer like this. Especially when he let Sam snake out of going to the hospital for the last few days. Enough was enough. Something was seriously wrong, and Dean was determined to get it fixed. _

"_Dean, no. I'm- I'm alright. See?"_

_Sam attempted to lift up his upper body and stand up straight to show that he'll be alright, but it didn't work. It made the muscles in his stomach get dangerously tight, causing him to drop to his knees. He rested his head on the ground. This time, holding his stomach with both hands. _

_Dean jogged to him and pulled him to his feet. _

"_C'mon." he says, putting one of his hands over his shoulder. _

_Dean put Sam in the passenger seat of the cat and sped off toward the neatest hospital. _

-**"**-

_**Three hours later…**_

Appendicitis. Not a funny thing. Sam's having surgery in about a half an hour and Dean was more worried than he let on. But anesthesia on the other hand, it definitely lightened the mood. Sam had been given it about ten minutes ago and he was already drugged out of his mind. His head lolled back and forth and he had a slight smirk on his face, like when he was little and knew he did something wrong.

Dean smiled.

"Dean?" Sam called, drawing out his name. He patted his stomach, his face confused. "Something used to he here. Right _here_…what was it?"

Dean laughed a little. "Your stomach?"

"Yes! Yes. My stomach. Good ol' tummy." He pats his stomach again.

Dean shook his head. "It's still there, Sam."

"Nuh uh," he contradicts back, shaking his head in large movements, causing his hair to swing back and forth. "I can't feeeeeel it anymore."

Dean chuckled a little. "It's cause they numbed it."

Sam rubs the side of his head. "Numb?"

"Yeah."

"Numb?"

"Yes, Sam."

Sam smiles. "Numb, numb, numb, numb, numb-"

"Sam, stop!"

Sam chuckles. "Sorry," he apologizes in a soft voice.

There was silence in the room again. Dean hated the silence, it gave his mind room to wander. Wander into the darkest of places. To think about things he hated. What if something goes wrong in surgery? Dean understood that having Sam's appendix taken out wasn't something tragic or seriously horrifying, but just the though of Sam being in surgery made his heart race. He hated it. Basically, Dean wished all of this was just over.

"What's today?"Sam asks, interrupting Dean's thoughts.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Tuesday."

Sam nods. "And the date?"

"The second."

Sam gasps. "It's my anniversary!"

Dean makes a face. "For what?"

Sam smiles. "I've been twenty-three for seven months."

Dean shakes his head and smiles. "Your such a dork."

Silence again.

Dean's thinking, again.

What if it's not just his appendix? What if there's an infection? Then what?

Dean shakes his head, trying to make his worries go away. He didn't need to think like this. Not now. He needed to be strong. Not only for himself, but for Sam, too. If Sam sees him worry, then maybe he'll start worrying. And the last thing Dean needs is for Sam to worry.

Thank God for anesthesia. Right now, Sam was like a kid. He wasn't worried. He knew about the surgery, but it didn't seem to register with him as it would if his body was pumping full of drugs. And for that, Dean was thankful.

Just then, the doctor comes in the room. "You ready?" he asks. Two of his assistants come in the room and begin to roll Sam out.

"Wait," he tells them and they stop rolling him. Sam turns back to Dean who's walking beside them.

"You're gonna be here when I come back?"

Dean nods. "Well, you'll be sleeping. But yeah, I'll be here."

Sam smiles. "Thank you."

Dean ruffles his hair a little and gives him a promising smile. "Wouldn't have it any other way, Sammy."

* * *

**Please review. Send requests!**

**Oh yeah, and check out my other Supernatural stories, "Gone" and it's sequel that's currently in progress, "Stonewall."**

**Thank you! **


	5. Dinner

_***Requested By: samgirl19***_

_**Thank you for the request.**_

**Summary: Sam and Dean are in a horrible car accident…**

**Enjoy…**

Glass.

Blood.

Pain.

Dean grunted as his memory slowly came back to him. His head was back, leaning in the driver's seat. His left hand still on the steering wheel; the other by his side. Burning pain went through his chest every time he breathed. His leg hurt, too.

This is horrible.

This is crazy.

This isn't supposed to happen.

All they were trying to do was go get dinner…

**"**

"_I'm hungry," Dean had said, flipping the magazine closed. _

"_When aren't you?" Sam shot back with a smirk. _

_Dean shrugged, and stood. "Exactly. So lets go."_

_He grabbed his jacket, and threw Sam his. Almost reluctantly, Sam stood, tossing his jacket over his shoulder he waited for Dean to begin walking. _

"_What're you in the mood for, Sam?"_

_Sam shrugged. "Doesn't matter."_

_Opening the door and holding it, Dean let Sam walk out first. He closed the door and followed behind him. _

"_Oh come on, grumpy. Sasquatch's eat, too."_

_Sam rolled his eyes as he opened the passenger side door. He sat down. "Seriously, Dean. It doesn't matter. You pick."_

_Closing the door and starting the car, Dean laughed. _

"_Oh what's that, Sammy? You want burgers?" Dean covered his mouth sarcastically. "Well look at that! Me, too."_

_Sam laughed. _

"_Whatever."_

_Dean put the car in 'drive' and pulled out of the parking lot. _

_Little did they both know: there was trouble up ahead. _

**"**

Warning.

Yelling.

Unconsciousness.

Moving his stiff neck, Dean looked over at Sam.

His head rested on the cracked window. One hand loosely gripped the door handle while the other lay across his lap. Blood ran from the side of his head, making a trail down his face. Crimson red covered his left shoulder, too. Small shards of glass cut little marks into his face and hands.

Dean's arm hurt like hell. But he didn't care. He reached over and touched Sam's arm.

"Sam," he calls, his voice almost gone.

Nothing.

"Sam," he repeats a little louder.

Nothing.

Dean could feel his heart speed up as worry filled his heart and mind.

"Sammy!" he said as loud as he could, shaking Sam's arm.

Dean's heart was beating in his ears as Sam continued to be unresponsive.

Now Dean was scared.

"Sam! Answer me. Sammy!"

**"**

"_Man, I'm tired," Dean says aloud, rubbing his eye._

_Sam give him a skeptical look. _

"_You want me to drive?"_

_Dean laughed. "You? Drive?" he rolled his eyes. "Sam, I said I was tired, not drunk."_

_Sam shrugged. _

"_Whatever. You're the one who said you're tired."_

_Taking his eyes off the road for a second, Dean looks over at his brother._

"_What, you think I'm gonna fall asleep driving or something?"_

_Sam smiled. "You're overreacting. I didn't even say that."_

_Dean put on his signal and slowed for the stop sign. _

"_Oh, I'm overreacting?"_

"_Yeah, you're overreacting, Dean."_

_Silence. _

"_I think we should head to the next state over tomorrow," Dean states, finally breaking the silence. _

"_Why?" Sam mumbled, staring out the window. _

_Dean passes through a green light and continues straight. _

"_Well Dad's still missing and he's not here. It's time to get going."_

_Sam was quiet for a second, before saying, "Sure," in a soft voice. _

_Dean grunted audibly. "Now you're mad."_

"_No I'm not."_

_Dean raised an eyebrow. "I can hear it in your voice, Sam."_

"_I'm not mad."_

_Dean sighs. _

"_You know what? Forget it. I'm not gonna argue with you, Sam."_

_He kept his stare on Sam for a second too long and didn't see the light turn red. Keeping straight, Dean ran the red light. _

_Sam jumped. _

"_Dean look out!"_

**"**

Silence.

Stillness.

Panic.

"Sam. Sam, please. Answer me. Sam!"

Nothing.

The only thing that kept Dean somewhat sane was the fact that he could see Sam's chest rise and fall every few seconds. His breathing was rugged. His breathing was labored. But he was breathing. And that's all that counts.

Counting to three in his head, Dean sat up. Leaning toward the wheel. His stomach burned. Sizzled, even. A pain he never felt before. Like three hundred knives stabbing him in the same place over and over again. Fighting it, Dean turned, trying to face his brother as much as he could.

"Sam, please. Open your eyes, man."

He shook Sam again.

Sam's hand moved a little and then he moaned in pain. His head tried to follow Dean's voice but he couldn't move.

"Dean?" Sam called, his voice barely over a whisper.

He couldn't help it, Dean smiled with relief.

"Yeah, Sam. It's here. It's gonna be okay."

Silence.

"Sam?" Dean asked, getting worried when Sam didn't answer.

"Wha' happen'd"

Dean let out a sigh.

"Car accident. Don't you remember?"

Sam shook his head a little.

"Not re'lly."

Dean reached out, keeping his hand on Sam's arm.

"Dean," Sam says.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

Sam sighs, his eyes falling closed again.

"'M tired…"

Dean but his lip. "I know, Sam. But you gotta stay awake, okay?"

"'M tired." Sam repeats, almost begging Dean to let him sleep.

Dean shakes his arm. "Sam. No. Don't close you eyes. You hear me?"

Nothing.

"Sam."

Silence.

"Sammy!"

**"**

_A truck. A four wheel, gazillion pound, huge, tuck. _

_It plowed the Impala off the road and into a light pole on the other side of the intersection. It hit Sam's side first, pressing into him more as it was swept across the road. Dean was hit next. His side slammed into the light pole. _

_They were both knocked unconscious by first contact. _

_The other cars pulled themselves to a screeching halt when they seen the disaster. _

_But it didn't matter. _

_The damage was already done. _

**"**

Sirens.

Lights.

Savior.

The ambulance and the police were here. Dean could see them.

"You hear that, Sam?" Dean continued talking, if anything, trying to keep himself calm. "Help's here. We're gonna be okay."

Sam didn't answer.

He had passed out again.

"Sam?"

A bright light was shone through Dean cracked window. They were getting closer.

Finally feeling like he was able to relax, Dean dropped his head to the seat again, sighing.

"You're gonna be okay, Sam," Dean promised, rubbing the side of his brother's blood-stained face. "You're gonna be okay."

Within minutes, they were both in separate ambulances being transported to the hospital. Everything looked really bad now, but Dean was right.

They were both going to be okay. It's just going to take some time.

And to think, all they were trying to do was go get dinner…

* * *

**I really enjoyed writing this one. **

**Thanks for the idea.**

**Send requests everyone! I'll take a shot at anything.**

**Please review! It's really appreciated.**


	6. Heat

_***Requested By: Samgirl19. Again, thanks for the request. **_

_**Summary: Sam and Dean are stuck in the heat. (Summary sucks, but you'll get it. KEEP READING!)**_

102 degrees.

83% humidity.

Horrible.

Dean slammed his hand down on the steering wheel as it slowed down to a stop at the side of the road. He pressed the gas pedal over and over and it didn't speed up. Not even a little. He rubbed his brow, trying not to scream in frustration. Dean looked over at Sam who had slouched down in the passenger seat.

"How the hell did you _not _fill her up with gas?"

Sam shrugged slightly, trying not to look at Dean.

"Sam, really? How empty-minded can you be? I specifically told you this morning to take her across the street and get gas. God, Sam."

He sat up. "Sorry."

"Sorry's not gonna put gas in the car, now is it?"

The Impala finally gave out and stopped completely.

Dean let go of the wheel.

"Great, now we're stuck."

Sam looked around. Nothing but heat, dirt roads and trees for miles. Thinking about how much gas was left in the tank before they left it was a miracle that they made it this far. The heat was enough to cook you if you stood still for long enough. The car was burning hot. Outside was even hotter. But they boys were sitting ducks. No where to go.

"Where was the last gas station we passed?" Dean asked, drinking some of the bottle water they had sitting in the cup holder between them.

"Uhmm," Sam thought a loud, trying to recall. "At least three miles."

Dean dropped his head onto the seat, sighing.

"Damn it," he cursed. "Now what're we supposed to do?"

Sam opened his door. "Walk."

Dean shook his head. "We can't walk that far, Sam. We'd burn or something."

"We can't sit here either. Who says that someone's gonna come by, willing to give us a ride? Who says the car won't overheat or something before the sun goes down?"

"Who says we won't die of heat exposure?" Dean argues.

Sam shrugs, getting out of the car. "Did you always tell me if we're gonna die, we might as well die fighting? So come on. Get out of the car, Dean."

Grunting, Dean opened the door, grabbed two bottles of water and began walking.

"We can walk though the woods if you want. I mean, it probably has more shade," Sam suggested, already walking toward the trees.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, whatever. But if we get stopped by a freakin' bear, he's eating you first."

_**Thirty minutes later…**_

"It's freakin' hot!"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"You're not hot?" Dean asked, looking back at Sam who had began trailing behind. Sam shrugged. He hoped the look on his face didn't show how he was really feeling. He felt like he was burning for the core out. His water was halfway full and he didn't want to drink it all because he knew it was at least another hour of walking and he was going to need it.

The sun. Oh, God, the sun. It felt like it was specifically aimed for Sam's face, causing him to feel lightheaded. But you know what's weird? Even though Sam was as hot as he was, he wasn't sweating. Not at all.

Dean looked back at him.

"You okay?"

Sam nodded, trying to look as alright as he could.

Truth was: he didn't know how much longer he could walk like this. His legs felt like jell-o. His feet was aching each time he took another step. His stomach was pretty much empty. He hadn't eaten since early this morning, and it was making him dizzy. Breathing in his heat and humidity was making his breaths come in quicker and lighter, making him woozy. He staggered on his feet every few steps. Yeah., this was getting bad.

Dean snapped his fingers between Sam's eyes, making him go cross-eyed for a second.

"I'm talking to you."

Sam clears his mind and tries to put on his _'I'm okay, stop trying to find something to worry about'_ face.

"Wha-what?" Sam asked, trying to pick up speed.

Dean shook his head.

"I said," he started, with a fake attitude. "are you still good on water?

Quickly, Sam looked down at the water bottle in his hands and shook it.

"Yeah, I got like half left. You?"

Dean nods. "I'm good," he shakes his almost full bottle of water in front of Sam, then pushes it into his front pocket. He slaps the side of Sam's face playfully. "Just checking on you."

Sam rolls his eyes a little, letting them fall on the hundreds and hundreds of trees that surround them and this skinny, dusty dirt trail they were following. The road was just a couple of yards away, but they thought it might give them some more shelter from the sun if they took the path that cut through the trees.

"You're always checking on me," Sam mumbled, tightening and loosening the cap on his warm bottle of water.

Dean smirked, cranking his neck. "Yeah, and someday you'll thank me for it…"

_**Seventeen minutes after that…**_

Dean stopped, looking at Sam as he walked zombie-like down the dirt trail. His feet began to scrape the ground. His arms hung at his side, swinging lazily with his every movement. He blinked a few times, like trying to clear his vision. In other words: he looked like hell.

"Hey," Dean called.

Sam looked in his direction, then put his head down and kept walking.

"You okay?" Dean asked, tugging on the end of Sam's shirt as he walked by. He nodded weakly.

"Yeah," he mumbled, keeping his head down.

Dean took a few quick steps and stopped in front of him. He put his hands on both of his shoulders making him stop. Dean looked at him and frowned.

Sam felt like he could drop and second, and the way his knees kept buckling, he could fall any second.

"Sam?" Dean says, noticing his brother's sick appearance. He pointed to a lone, but tall tree a few feet away. "You wanna go sit down or something? We can stop for a while. The gas station's not going anywhere…"

Sam didn't answer, but his hand gripped Dean's bicep as his body swayed to the side. Dean held his shoulder's tighter; keeping him on his feet for as long as he could.

_I'll take that as you wanna sit down…_

Dean put Sam's arm over his shoulder and fixed his hand around his waist, keeping him steady. And they were off…

Sam's head drooped forward, the front of his hair swaying from side to side with each step. Dean felt like he had to pull him, just to get his feet to move. And all of this wasn't easy on Dean wither. Contrary to common belief, he's not a superhero. He was tired, too. More tired than he let Sam know. But this? This is crazy. Dean wasn't sure if he could handle this.

Bringing Sam to the tree, he pushed him down forcefully but gently. Sam lay his head on the trunk of the tree closing his eyes. His breathing was quick, and his face was beginning to turn red. Not _'I got sunburn'_ red, but _'I'm about to pass out' _red. Dean could feel his heart puck up speed.

Sighing, Dean look one last swig from his water bottle before putting it to Sam's lips and saying "Drink this."

Dean wanted to drink all of it. Hell, he needed it. But Sam needed it more, and he knew that.

Sam raised his hand with the water bottle in it.

"I have one…"

"I know," Dean cut in. "But yours was in your hand all this time, in the heat. Mine was in my pocket, blocking it from the sun a little more than yours. Mine is colder. Just drink it."

Without further argument, Sam took Dean's water bottle and drank a big gulp. He tried to hand it back to Dean but he put his hand up, declining it. Dean knew he would regret the words he was about to say, but in a way he didn't care, "You can have it, Sam."

Thankfully, Sam put the bottle to his mouth again, drinking the rest of it.

When finished, he set it down on the ground next to him along side his half-full water bottle.

"Feel better?" Dean asked hopefully.

Sam shrugged. "It's hot."

"You're so observant, Sam," Dean replied sarcastically.

Sam rested his head on the trunk again and tugged at his shirt. "This thing is killing me."

Noticing his shoe untied, Dean began to tie it. "So take it off," he had said.

Dean sat down next to Sam who lifted his brown T-shirt over his head..

Suddenly, Dean felt Sam's hand hit his arm. Dean ignored. Then, Sam's hand hit his shoulder.

"Dude, stop touching me-…what?" Dean asked when he figured out that Sam was trying to get his attention.

Sam shook his head.

"I don't feel good."

_Uh oh…_

Dean sat up a little, facing Sam.

"You gonna puke?"

Sam swallowed hard and let out a deep breath. "Probably."

_Damn._

Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder, turning his body in the opposite direction of himself. "Well aim that a 'way, huh Shooter."

Sam coughed. "Not funny," he mumbled, throwing his head back with a sigh.

Dean apologized, but that was the only way he could keep calm. If he didn't joke about it he'd probably panic. He hated when Sam was sick. But now? Technically they're stranded. They still have about a mile or so to walk. And Sam looked like he out faint any second. This was not good. Not good at all.

Sam swallowed hard again, rubbing his throat.

"I'm dizzy."

Pushing his shoulder, Dean turned Sam's face toward him.

"Look at me," he commanded softly.

Sam's eyes traveled in his direction. He seen as his pupils expanding and decreasing, trying to focus.

_That's not good…_

Sam dropped his head for a second.

"Where are we?" Sam asked, genuinely confused.

Dean was blindsided by this question for a second. He just wasn't expecting it.

"Uh, we're in Texas, Sam."

Sam nodded.

"We're hunting, right?"

Dean scratched the side of his head. "Yeah, Sam. Uh, yeah. We're hunting. You don't remember?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I forgot."

Dean nodded and looked away for a second.

"Dean?" Sam called out to him.

He looked back over to him.

"Yeah?"

Sam looked around in confusion.

"Where are we?"

_**Ten minutes later…**_

"Stop moving, jumpy," Dean says grabbing Sam's tapping hand for a second.

Sam sighed. "I'm not doing it on purpose."

Looking away, Dean nodded. "I know, I'm sorry Sam."

Dean took Sam's water bottle and handed it to him. "Here."

Pulling his head away, Sam shook his head. "I don't want it."

"Bullshit, Sam. You look like your seconds away from trying to get water out of his dirt."

Sam smirked a little.

"But you-"

"Don't worry about me, Sam. I do enough worrying for the both of us."

Sam sighed, and drank a mouthful of the warm water.

Dean stood. "I think we should try to get going. We can't stay here forever. Can you walk?"

Holding out his hand, Sam waited for Dean to take it to help him up. Sam got about halfway before falling back to the ground, holding the sides of his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Everything's spinning," he announced softly. He slowly opened his eyes; looking up at Dean.

Dean let out a sigh.

"Well now what?"

"Dean-"

Dean rambled on, not even hearing Sam call his name. "I can't carry you, Sam. I mean, I will if I have to. But…you get what I mean…"

"Dean-"

"It may be miles until the gas station or someone with a car. What are we supposed to do? We're almost out of water. You're sick…"

"Dean!"

Closing his mouth quickly, Dean shut up and listened.

Sam put one hand up. "Everything's going black…"

Instantly, Dean dropped to his knees. He tapped Sam's cheek.

"No, no, no. Sam. You can't go to sleep now. I need you awake, man."

Sam blinked slowly. His eye lids getting more and more heavier.

Dean snapped his fingers. "Focus, Sam. Open your eyes."

Sam looked up, past Dean.

"You see that?" Sam asks.

Quickly, Dean looks behind him. Seeing nothing.

"What?"

Sam pointed past him to the trees. "All that water. Can we get some?"

Confirming his first statement, there was nothing there but trees.

Dean takes hold of Sam's face, tapping it gently.

"That's not focusing, Sam. That's hallucinating. C'mon, Sam. Stay with me."

Dean snapped his fingers.

Sam mumbled something and let his head bob forward.

Getting desperate, Dean uncaps the final bottle of water and pours what's left of it on Sam's head.

His head shoots up, spraying Dean with water, also.

Dean smiled, sitting back down.

He looked around. Nothing but open road. He sighed.

"We'll just stay here. Okay? We're gonna stay here. Somebody's gotta some by, right?" Dean talks aloud.

Sam's head was back on the trunk of the tree. His cheek rested on Dean's shoulder. His breathing blew hot air onto Dean arm every few seconds.

Dean looked at the two empty bottles. Then at Sam who was out of it by now. From Dean's point of view, he didn't even look conscious. Taking his eyes off Sam, he looked both ways at the road. They were about a mile away from the Impala, and about a mile and a half away from a gas station or the next town, even.

Seeing no other option, Dean leaned over, resting his head on top of Sam's and sighed.

"Someone's gotta come by, Sam. Someone's gotta help us."

_**About an hour or so later…**_

Dean almost didn't notice the headlights coming down the road. But once he did, he hopped onto his feet and out to the middle of the road. He waved his hands frantically, calling to whoever was in the truck headed for him.

The car slowed.

"You lost?" the older man in the truck asked.

Dean walked up the to car.

"Uh, kinda. Listen, my brother's really sick. Can you drive us to the nearest hospital, please?"The man looked at him skeptically.

"How can I be so sure that you're not lying? That you're not gonna rob me for my money and probably my car, too?"

Dean sighed.

He held his hand up.

"Stay here. Please, stay right here. I'll be back. I promise," Dean says, walking quickly over to where Sam was positioned.

He crouched down.

"See, Sam? Told you someone will come by sooner or later."

Sam doesn't answer. His eyes stay closed.

Without wasting more time, Dean slides one hand under Sam's knees and the other under the top of his back, lifting him. Sam's head falls over Dean's shoulder, tossing back and forth with Dean's movements.

Carrying his brother back to the man he shook his head.

"See? My brother is _actually_ sick. So please, can you drive us to the hospital?"

Dean gave the man his best _'All I'm trying to do is take care of my little brother, you're our only hope'_ look.

It didn't take long at all for the man to give in.

"Okay. Hop in."

Dean opened the door. He knew that it was stupid to trust this man, especially when he didn't know him. Not even his name. But he was desperate. Sam needed help and this was the only way Dean could get it for him.

Sitting in the back seat with Sam, Dean looked out the window. Sam's head lay in his lap. He lay there peacefully, almost. If Dean didn't know better, he'd say he was sleeping. But Dean knew that wasn't the case. It was something way more serious.

"I told you someone would help us Sam," Dean puts his hand over Sam, letting it fall across his chest.

"You're gonna be okay," Dean promised.

Time actually went quick. They arrived at the hospital rather fast.

Dean smiled, knowing he could finally get the proper help for Sam.

"Yeah," Dean says in a soft voice. "You're gonna be okay."

* * *

**Please Review. They make me smile :]**

**Send requests in your review, too. I'll take anything. Just say the word...**


	7. Confined

_***Requested By: ChelseaWinchester***_

_**Summary: While on a hunt for something ghost-like, Sam and Dean art trapped in the log cabin they're hunting in. Shortly after, things turn deadly. **_

_**(These paragraphs are a little longer than what I usually write because I gave a bunch of detail so you can get a great picture of what's happening. So read carefully and enjoy!)**_

_**Thanks so much for the requests everyone, keep them coming. You guys are awesome!**_

Night Owls.

That's exactly what they were. Armed with rock salt filled rifles and flashlights, they walked through the dirt and moss to the abandoned cabin on the edge of the small town they were in. The wind blew slightly, just enough to give you they totally creepy feeling. The trees shook each time, they chased each other in a tight circle and then flew in the opposite direction.

Dean was ahead. Of course. He walked carefully and recklessly at the same time. Something only he could pull off. His right hand gripped his gun tightly, ready for anything that even moved the wrong way.

Sam followed close behind, watching not only his, but Dean's back, too. With a technique Dean had taught him when they were younger, he had positioned his flashlight on top if his gun, keeping them both steady and on target. He kept his light in the path Dean was going, making sure he knew where he was going.

They approached the house. He cricked his neck.

"You stay here. I'll check the back," Dean had says softly, sneaking around the side of the cabin and disappearing into the night, leaving Sam alone.

Sam turned the handle on the doorknob. Finding it unlocked, he pushed it open. The hinges screamed as it swung ajar slowly. Cautiously, Sam looked around; checking for any strange or sudden movement. Trying to feel any weird presence or quick drafts. Nothing.

Seeing no harm in entering, Sam walked forward. He shined his flashlight in the furthest corner. Nothing but an end table and an ancient telephone with no line sitting on top of it. To the left of it was a small hall that led to what looked like a kitchen. Walking more into the house, Sam make a 360, searching as much as he could. He heard a loud thump and figured it was Dean coming inside the house from the back door.

"I'm in here, Dean."

There were footsteps coming toward Sam, but he didn't think much of it. His focus went to the ceiling, making sure there was nothing up there. Again, he saw nothing. This house was beginning to look like a dud. Nothing was here but a bunch of cobwebs and a lot of dirt and rust.

Exiting what would be the living room, Sam entered the kitchen. It was a mess. Doors to the cabinets were missing. The refrigerator was open but no light was coming from it. The sink was missing. Three rust covered, but sharp pipes were sticking out the ground where it used to be. Weirdly, there were two dishes in the darkest corner of the kitchen. It was big, though; bigger than it looked from the outside.

A quick, freezing burst of wind went past Sam. It came so strongly, it almost knocked him off his feet. He stumbled momentarily, then spun around on his heel, locked and loaded. His eyes darted from wall to wall; ceiling to floor. Nothing. Everything was clear.

Sam could feel his heart rate pick up. He was getting nervous.

"Dean?" he called out, noticing that his brother hasn't came in yet.

Again, the wind pushed past him, blowing his hair in his eyes for a second, blinding him. He shook his head frantically, throwing his bangs to the side, clearing his vision. Quickly, he shone his flashlight around the huge, but filthy kitchen.

Nothing.

Whoever, or whatever was doing that, was somehow disappearing. Yeah, this was a ghost cast they have on their hands.

Everything was calm for a second and Sam was almost sure that whatever was here was gone. For now at least. Turning around, he began to head toward the front of the house. Dean still hadn't answered and Sam was beginning to get worried.

_Whoosh!_

That wind again. Whatever it was; it was back…

Sam cocked his rifle again, and turned to the side, studying everything carefully.

Out of nowhere, a white figure cam charging toward him.

"Sam, look out!" a voice called.

Dean's voice.

The figure raised his arm and Sam went flying. He was thrown backwards, his head clipping the top of the doorframe as he was flung into the kitchen. His gun dropped out of his hand as black dots began clouding his vision. Very blurrily, he seen Dean's figure running toward him. Sam could see he was yelling, but he couldn't hear what he was saying.

Sam's back came in contact with the wall on the far end then he was stick to the wall where the sink should be. Sam looked down and shivered. He felt his stomach drop as his body fell to the floor. Dean scrunched his face when he seen the two pipes go through Sam's leg. They glistened with his blood.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, still charging toward him.

Feeling his eyes lids get heavier, Sam let them slide closed. Luckily for him, he didn't even feel the two pipes stab his leg and bind him to the floor. He just simply felt the darkness as it left a happy sensation over his body, and Sam welcomed the darkness with open arms.

Little details came to Sam in small bursts of almost unbearable pain. His head throbbed to the beat of his heart. His leg, oh God, words couldn't even describe the pain he felt in his leg. He felt someone next to him, but just couldn't place his finger on who exactly. There was a smell in the room that reeked for something rancid and spoiled. Rotten eggs, maybe? Whatever it was, it was sure waking up Sam's senses. He was half-sitting up, shoulder blades presses against something cold and hard. Tile? Wood? Whatever. He was breathing heavy, heart whooshing in and out og his ears- still alive- borderline consciousness.

"Sam?" An echo of a voice chimed in a ran around in his head. The voice seemed far away. But then again, have you ever heard an echo that sounded close? "Sam, rise and shine." There it was again.

Beside the cooing of the echo, everything was quiet.

"Sam?"

Turning his head to the voice calling him, he reached for it. He felt a warm hand cover his and bring it back down to his lap; laying it there. Sam opened his eyes ever so slightly. Just a crack, really. He seen a dirty, kitchen-looking room. But there was a difference from the last time he was it: Everything was closed. The door that separated it from the living room was closed and the refrigerator was pushed in front of it. The windows were closed, too. There was confined in. Quarantine, even.

Sam's eyes rolled over to his right where he spotted a leather jacket first. His eyes traveled north and seen shot-cut hair and a chiseled, but gentle face staring at him. His green eyes looking down at him with hope, worry, determination, and focus all at the same time. Another thing only Dean could pull off. He stared at him. Rifle in one hand; flashlight shining in his face in the other. He looked down at him with that 'hi there' smile sewn into his face.

He must've been looking at Dean with a confused look on his face because he began explaining.

"You took a pretty good knock to that egg head of yours," he says, pointing to the side of his head. Sam reaches up to where Dean had just pointed and gracefully touches it. He face scrunches together and he winces in pain.

"Well don't touch it, genius."

Sam let his hand fall on the ground. Dean looked down at Sam's legs then at Sam, then back at him legs. "Yeah, whatever it is can disappear like friggin' Houdini," Dean continued. "He knocked you off you're feet. Literally. You snagged your head on the top of the doorframe and you can give your self extra credit for you leg."

Letting his eyes drop, Sam finally had a good look at the two pipes shooting through his leg, keeping him stuck to the ground. He bit his lip when he seen blood ooze out one of the wounds and trickle down his jeans. Suddenly, he felt like he could throw up.

A soft cloth pressed against the side of Sam's head.

"Ow," Sam says jerking his head away.

Dean takes hold of Sam's shoulder, keeping him in place. "Hold still."

He raised the cloth again, but didn't press it to the side of his head yet. Sam was jittery, he felt his hand tapping and his head beginning to move away from Dean's hand. What he felt before was barely a tap. It was going to hurt like hell when Dean actually pressed it against his head and applied pressure.

"Dea- ah, damn it!" Sam cursed, pain leaving him breathless.

Sighing, Dean says, "Stop moving, then. It won't hurt that much."

It takes all the power left in Sam not to move away or cry out when Dean pressed the cloth to his head, trying to stop the bleeding.

"'M leg," Sam mumbles, looking at it. It was turned slightly, the pipes entering and exiting his leg at an angle. It hurt like hell, but it was numb at the same time. Maybe he didn't feel it as much because he hadn't moved it yet.

Dean sit's back.

"You're leg hurt more than your head?"

Sam shrugs. "For now. Maybe because you're pressing on it like you want it to explode."

Instantly, Sam could feel Dean ease the pressure on his head.

"Sorry," he apologizes, "Trying to stop the bleeding."

Sam's eyes wander around the room.

"We gotta get out of here."

Dean sighs. "Well I don't know. I kinda like it here," he smiles faintly at Sam. "We should stay for margaritas and the concert at ten."

"Ha ha; you're hilarious," Sam responds dryly.

Dean shrugged, setting the flashlight down. "We can't anyway. We're locked in. Seems like whatever's here doesn't want us to leave."

Sam sighed.

He thought about his own injuries and the predicament he was in and then remembered Dean.

"You hurt?" Sam questioned, his voice hoarse.

Dean laughed uneasily. "You make a good distraction, Sam. Thing wasn't even thinking about me."

Sam looked down at his leg again. The delayed reaction of pain was beginning to kick in. He was beginning to feel a burning sensation all over his leg.

"Must've heard you calling for me," Dean says, letting go of the rifle.

Sam rolled his eyes. "My first mistake."

"Actually, more like your third," Dean corrects. "I told you to stay outside. And you know not to be that loud when we're hunting. It only draws attention to yourself."

"I learned the hard way," Sam mumbled.

Dean smiled slightly. "No kidding."

There was rumbling, shook the whole cabin. Causing Sam's leg to shake back and forth.

"Ah!" he called out, taking hold of his thigh, trying to steady his leg. Quickly, Dean picked up the rifle and the flashlight and aimed all around the house. They didn't see anything, though. The ghost-like demon might be right in front of their faces and they don't even see it. Suddenly, one of the glass plates that were in the corner comes flying out of the darkness and zoomed right past both Dean and Sam's face, smashing into the wall adjacent to them.

Dean shot in the direction the plate came from but it didn't hit anything.

The wind stopped and everything was quiet again. The only sound was of Sam and Dean's heavy breathing as they got their composure back.

"I think it's gone," Dean says, dropping his gun a little.

Rolling his head, Dean looked over at Sam who still gripped the top of his leg in pain. Soft whimpers could be heard from him as he lightly rocked back and forth as the pain got worse. Dean saw as a tear dropped from Sam's eye and onto his lap. He sucked in a labored lungful of air and let it out sharply, trying to ease the pain.

Dean let his hand fall on his shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze for a second.

"Hey, Sammy. You alright? You with me?"

Sam continued to rock for a second or two before he answered. "Not really."

Dean sighed. He put his hand under Sam's chin, lifting it.

"Look at me," Dean commanded softly.

Sam let their gazes meet.

"How are we gonna get out of here, Dean?"

Dean looked down at his hands. "Maybe my Spidey senses will kick in soon."

Letting his hand fall on the dirty will behind down, Sam sighed. "I'm serious, Dean."

Dropping the rifle on his lap, Dean sighed. He rubbed his brow, knowing that they can't even attempt anything unless they get those pipes out of Sam's leg. Dean took hold of the flashlight and shone in it Sam's face.

"Okay, seriously, how do you feel?"

Sam rubbed his temples and sighed, his breath shaky. "Seriously," he says, leaning toward the right. "Like I'm gonna puke."

Dean begins to rub small circles on his back.

"Well, seriously, don't. Throwing up's not gonna help up any. But what will help us is getting you un-stuck."

Sam quivered at the thought of trying to pull his leg from this. It was already killing him, but irritating it would just make it worse.

Dean pushed himself to his knees in front of Sam.

"There's no getting around this, Sammy. I'm sorry."

Understandingly, Sam nodded and braced himself for the pain he knew he would feel.

Dean took off his jacket. Folded it a few times so that it was thin enough, and then handed it to Sam.

"Bit down on this."

Sam tried to say something in argument, but Dean cut it.

"Trust me; you're gonna need it."

Giving in, Sam took the jacket and bit down in it. After taking in a few deep breaths Sam nods slightly.

"Alright. On three. 'Kay, Sam?"

He nodded again.

"One…"

Sam could feel his heart beat speed up. His breathing got more rapid at the pure thought of even moving his leg, let alone attempting to pull something out of it.

"Two…"

Dean fixed his grip on Sam's lower leg and shook his head. His eyes were soft with worry and regret. He knew he was going to hate doing this, but it was something he had to do. This is the only way Dean could actually put any type of plan into action. Once Sam was out of this, he could try to break out of here.

"Three!"

Dean pulled firmly on Sam's leg.

Sam screamed in pain, throwing his head back into the wall.

His leg lifted a few inches, but not enough to get rid of the two pipes going through it.

Sam gripped Dean's wrist tightly.

"Stop! Dean, please stop!" Sam begged, his voice muffled by Dean's jacket.

Dean didn't stop though. He gave his leg another sharp jerk upward, making the pipes slip even more.

Tears streamed down the side of Sam's face as he bit down on Dean's leather jacket.

Sam's surroundings were beginning to fade. Dean's encouraging words were becoming echo's in the back of his mind again. His head fell onto the wall behind him and he loosened his bite on Dean's jacket.

"Hold on, Sam. You can do it. It's almost out," Dean promised, still pulling on Sam's leg. Blood was pretty much covering all of his lower half. If Sam wasn't his brother, he couldn't even come close to him.

The pipes were almost out when Dean noticed Sam's whole body go completely limp and his leg stopped resisting his push. With ease, almost, Dean lifted Sam's leg off the two pipes and set it down as gently as he could. Using his favorite jacket for another MacGyver inspired improvisation, he tied it around Sam's leg in attempt to stop the bleeding.

Careful not to touch his bleeding leg, Dean crawled forward, tapping the side of Sam's face.

"C'mon man. None of that."

Sam's rugged breathing is his only reply.

"This is just as bad as having your friggin' leg impaled on the friggin' pole, you know that?" Dean says, getting aggravated as worry began to take over.

Dean shakes his brother.

"Sammy, wake up. C'mon."

Nothing.

"Sam!"

Again, nothing.

Dean stands, impenitentness and the feeling of being trapped getting to him.

"This is just great. Really, it's perfect," Dean mumbled, he kicked at the dirt on the ground, pacing.

What could he do?

Of course he had a plan. I mean, he's Dean Winchester for Christ sakes. But none of his plans are going to work if Sam's staring at the back of his eyelids.

Walking back over to him, Dean crouches down and decides to try again.

"Sam, wake up. C'mon, time to go before the evil ghost-spirit-demon-thing comes back," Dean sang, shaking Sam.

Sam shifted a little, beginning to wake.

"That's it, Sammy. Hey, come on," Dean tapped his shoulder again, this time successfully. Sam opened his eyes lazily. Everything had a slight blur to it. His head was still pounding but by now the pain in his leg had officially surpassed the pain in his head. Hell, it took home the grand prize for most painful injury.

"Mmm," Sam groaned, the pain increasing.

Dean reached down, putting one arm around Sam and pulling back, trying to get him to his feet. Like a doll, Sam stood, but he could barely hold himself up. His head dangled, and his legs were weak. Which is understandable. He pressed his hand into Dean's shoulder, steadying himself as much as he could.

"Wha're we do'n?" Sam asked, his voice slow and mumbled.

Dean shrugged.

"Well, Vanna, I'm going to take this rifle here," he held up the rifle that Sam didn't even had the strength to look at. "And I'm gonna shoot rock salt through that window there." he pointed to the window to the right of them.

"Then, I'm going to take you over there. Lift you're heavy ass up there, drop you over there, and take you to the car alllll the way over there. Get it?"

Sam didn't answer. Not really, anyway. He mumbled something but didn't listen hard enough to understand.

Following through with his plan, Dean shot through the window, breaking it. He half carried- half dragged Sam to the window and lifted him as much as he could so he could get out. He watched as Sam tried to lower himself to the ground as much as he could before letting go, coming down hard on both of his legs.

"AH!" Sam yelled when his legs came in hard contact with the floor.

Dean leaned over the window looking at Sam on the ground.

"Careful," he says with a smirk. "Don't hurt your good leg."

He couldn't help but laugh at his own joke.

Dean lifted himself up and out of the cabin and helped Sam to his feet.

"Now this thing might come after us," Dean informed, power walking with Sam on is arm. "How do you feel about running?"

Sam looked over at him with a dull look on his face. He was in no condition to run, and Dean knew that.

Speaking too soon, the wind came back, knocking Sam over and taking Dean with him. Quickly, Dean unhooked his arm from around Sam and stood.

"Sam, get up now. Go!"

Pushing himself up, Sam literally hopped on one foot toward where the Impala was parked.

Dean cocked his gun and waited.

The wind came back, blowing past him. Coming toward him he seen the white figure.

Dean shot not once, not twice, but three times, hitting the ghost each time.

Once he was sure it was dead…or dead, again, whatever, he went to catch up with Sam who had gotten pretty far for someone with one leg to use.

Dean brought Sam to the car and instantly called Bobby, letting him know they were headed to the hospital. Dean dialed and put the phone to his ear.

"Who you calling?" Sam asked, resting his head on the window.

"Ghostbusters," Dean replied dryly as he put the car in 'drive' and got away from the house as quickly as he could.

* * *

**To: ChelseaWinchester, when you said stabbed Sam, I didn't want to be cliche and have it similar to the show or anything to I stabbed him in the leg...twice :] Hope you still liked it !**

**To Everyone else a.k.a the most amazing people ever, I hope you enjoyed it, too. Please review, you know I love them. And leave me a request, the more the merrier :)**

**Thankyou, Please review!**


	8. Just in Case

_***Requested By: Hotshow***_

_**Summary: EARTHQUAKE! (says all)**_

_**+Oh, possible tissue warning. I don't know how sensitive you guys are. +**_

_**Enjoy….**_

"Who the hell knew trying to find Dad could be this complicated?" Dean grunted as he walked slowly down the stairs of the old warehouse and into the basement. Sam followed closely behind. He shrugged, not really knowing how to reply to Dean. They had a lead, though. An old hunter, some guy who said he was a friend of their Dad's from a while ago saw he come down here a couple times, so they figured they'd check it out.

It was dark. Everything was dark. There was one window on the far side of the basement that let in the little light there was from the sunset. Dean walked down first. The whole place was pretty much a mess. There were old books on the floor. About three or four safes. There were random objects around the room and a large desk across from them. There was a leaky pipe that dripped every so often, annoying the hell out of Dean. Above, there were large beams, making sure the tops floor _stayed_ the top floor.

"Alright, go check over there where the safes are. You're good with numbers," Dean says already walking in the other direction.

Sam shrugged, shining the light on Dean's back.

"I don't know the combination, Dean. How do you expect me to get in there?"

Dean smiled, shining his flashlight into Sam's face, causing to put his hand up and look away. Dean chuckled a little and brought his light down so Sam could look directly at him.

"Well get thinking, college boy. Stanford didn't give you a free ride 'cause you're pretty."

Sam laughed a little and began to walk in the other direction.

"Alright," he says, shaking his head. "I'll try; but no promises."

Dean didn't answer, he walked away beginning to rummage through the papers scattered around the desk. From what Dean could see, they were useless. They had old addresses for their Dad's old hunts. Some had phone numbers on it, but Dean didn't think they'd help any. There were drawings, too. Weird and misshapen creatures were scribbled on small pieces of paper and post-it notes. Dean threw them all over his shoulder, finding them useless.

He turns around and shines his light in Sam's direction.

"Anything?" Dean asks, watching Sam press his ear to the side of the safe, trying to hear the clicks it made if he hit the right number.

Giving up, Sam stood straight and held his arms out. He shook his head.

"Either I'm doing this wrong or this thing's just so old it won't even click anymore," Sam says as he turned his attention to the small objects placed meaninglessly on top of the safe.

"Probably both," Dean answers, still looking through the papers.

There were many picture frames with no pictures, many folders with no papers, hundreds of pens with no ink, and two sons with no lead. Annoyed, Dean drops the notebook full of nothing on the ground and grunts audibly.

_This sucks_, Dean thinks spinning around in a circle trying to see something interesting.

Sam scratches the side of his head. "I know," he says reading Dean's mind. "This sucks."

Sam looks in the far corner, seeing a huge stack of papers. He takes hold of his flashlight and begins to walk over to it.

"Where you goin'?" Dean asks, following Sam's every move with his flashlight.

Sam gestured to the corner and Dean nodded.

Putting his attention back to the desk Dean flips through some papers, trying to find something, anything that might give them some direction to where their father was.

Suddenly, the items on the desk started to shakes and the things on the floor started to rumble. Dean felt his feet wobble and his balance zip right out of him. He fell forward into the desk and held onto it, waiting for all of it to pass. The whole basement shook for about a minute or two before it stopped suddenly. When Dean was finally sure it was over, he pushed himself up and shone his flashlight in Sam's direction.

"Sammy? You good?"

His flashlight traced the area where Sam was once standing.

"Sam?"

Dean saw Sam stand slowly. "Yeah. I'm good."

"You hurt?"

Sam shook his head 'no'.

"Alright, well we need to go."

He saw Sam nods. "Okay. I'm coming to you."

Sam stepped over a bookshelf that fallen in the earthquake. He shook his head a whistled.

"That was weird, huh?" Sam says, trying to cross the huge basement to get to Dean.

Before Dean had a chance to answer the ground started moving again.

The ground shook hard. About ten times as hard as it did the other time. Again, Dean held on to the desk in front of him but it didn't help much. All around him he heard things falling, breaking on the ground with a loud bang. Outside he heard tires of cars as they tried to stop, but failing miserably. He heard the contents inside of the safe shake and rumble around, hitting both side of the safe. Above, he heard the beams cracking with the force of the earthquake. There was a loud bang, and then everything shook even harder. Soon after that, Dean lost his footing for good and watched as his world turn upside-down as he fell to the floor.

Dean wasn't sure what hit him, all he knew was it hurt like hell. Shortly after that, with the earth still shaking around him, Dean had blacked out.

* * *

By the time Dean had woken up again, he felt as if he could still feel the vibrations on the ground from the earthquake. His head throbbed. Hell, everything throbbed. Looking down at his right arm, he seen the flashlight still in his hand and working fine. Quickly, he looked up at the sky, trying to see Sam's flashlight reflecting off something. He didn't.

Dean put his hands on the ground and pushed himself up slowly. Some of the books and papers that were on the desk had fallen on him, but he brushed them off with ease. Dean sat up straight and moved his back a little, making sure nothing hurt. He checked his arms, too and moved his neck. Dean nodded. So far, so good. Next came standing. Simple enough, right?

Pushing his weight on his left side, Dean tried to stand.

He dropped back to the floor, clutching his leg.

"Damn it," he cursed, holding it.

Trying again, Dean stood slowly. He held the side of the desk for balance trying to find his center of balance before trying to walk. His left leg stung like hell. He felt like someone had stabbed him in it over and over again.

Holding his flashlight in his left hand, keeping his balance with his right, and basically standing on one leg, Dean tried to search for Sam. All he saw were numbers of chairs, beams from the ceiling, glass and scattered papers and other objects covering the floor. Dean hated the fact that he knew Sam was somewhere under that. And God only knows how long they've been knocked out.

"Sam?"

Nothing. Honestly, Dean wasn't expecting an answer. When did Sam ever answer him on the first try?

Taking matters into his own hands, Dean tried to walk through all of this mess. His leg radiated with pain each time he put pressure on it, but there was no way he was going to let that stop him from finding his brother. Dean remembered the direction Sam was trying to come from and walked that way. Stepping over small objects that made Dean's foot turn in odd directions didn't help his leg, either. Each time he stepped down onto the ground again his face scrunched in pain. It was getting worse.

After walking a few more steps Dean was a light. It was faint, barely a glow, but it was enough. Dean knew exactly what it was: Sam's flashlight.

_Thank God._

Dean took a few more steps, winching each time. He gripped his flashlight so tight it hurt, but it was the only way he could keep from crying out each time he took a step.

As he walked closer, he seen Sam's body. He was lying flat on the ground, and Dean hated what he saw. As he got closer Dean noticed that one of the beams from the ceiling had fallen on Sam, it lay clean across his stomach. A chair was across his legs, but Dean didn't think it caused any damage. Letting his eyes travel upward, Dean seen Sam's face. His eyes were close, which was expected, and he looked…peaceful, actually. But something told Dean that something was wrong. Very wrong.

Thinking back on it now, Dean couldn't tell you where this superhuman strength came from, but he was suddenly able to walk like nothing was wrong. He walked briskly-near jogging- to get to Sam. He called his name frantically, trying to get him to wake, but it didn't work.

The first thing Dean did was push the chair off his leg. He knew that he was going to have to get the beam off Sam, but he wasn't sure how heavy it was. Realizing he didn't care, Dean let the flashlight fall gently on the ground and took hold of the beam. He gathered his sudden strength and attempted to lift the beam.

Sadly, it barely budged.

"You're gonna be okay, Sammy," Dean promised more himself than Sam. "I'll get you out."

Trying again, Dean pushed on the beam. It moved quite a bit, but not far enough to get it off Sam. Not giving up , though, Dean pushing again. It took all the power he had left in him to finally have it fall off of Sam and onto the floor next to him.

Immediately, Dean bent down above Sam and checked for a heartbeat.

Thankfully, he found it quickly. It was faint, but Dean felt it pounding rapidly. He didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Next, he checked for breathing. He put his hand just above Sam's mouth and nose and waited four gruesome seconds to feel Sam weakly push air onto Dean's hand. Sam was breathing, barely. But he _was_ breathing, and to Dean, that's all that counts.

"Sammy. Wake up, c'mon."

Dean didn't even wait to see if Sam would react to his calling. He walked around him, putting his hands under Sam's arms and pulled him. Dean knew that he had to get somewhere down here that was safe. Preferably somewhere where the beams wouldn't fall on them if there was another aftershock.

Even though his head still throbbed, even though his leg hurt like hell, Dean didn't stop pulling Sam to the wall. He figured that there wasn't anything over there, so it must be safe enough for them to stay while they waited for help.

After getting Sam to the corner, Dean dropped to the floor next to him. He was exhausted. This was too much for someone who had just woken up. Dean felt lightheaded, but he didn't even let the possibility of passing out cross his mind. He needed to make sure Sam was alright. End of story.

As quickly as he could, Dean checked Sam over again. His legs seems fine from what Dean could see. His midsection was a mystery. Sam had a hoodie on and Dean couldn't tell if anything was broken, and to be honest, he was scared of what he might see if he looked. Looking now, Dean noticed a bone in Sam's arm poking out a little. Dean cringed. But Dean did notice something different. There was a stain on the left side of Sam's jacket, going all the way to the back of it. Dean traced the stain all the way up to Sam's neck and to the back of his head. Reaching out cautiously, Dean touched the back of Sam's head and pulled his hand away. Blood covered Dean's whole hand.

Dean felt his mouth drop into the 'O' shape as he looked at his hand.

Taking that as a red flag, Dean took two pig handfuls of Sam's hoodie and shook him.

"Sam. You gotta wake up. Sam, come on."

Sam's head bobbled back and forth as Dean shook him but he didn't wake.

Again, Dean shook him.

"Sammy, I'm serious. Wake up."

Nothing.

Growing scared and impatient, Dean slapped the side of Sam's face.

"Wake up, Sam. Please, wake up!"

Again, nothing.

Dean slammed his hand on the ground.

"Damn it!" he cursed.

He could hear his heart in his head and breath become shallow.

_How come Sam wasn't waking up?_

_How long have they been knocked out?_

_How hard did that beam come down on Sam?_

_What caused his head to bleed like that?_

_How much damage had that beam actually done?_

_How the hell are they going to get out of here?_

All of those questions swam around in Dean's head as he looked down at his unconscious brother with blood staining his hoodie.

Letting his eyes wander around the room, Dean noticed the window that was just a few feet away from them. He limped to it and tried to see out of it but it was too tall, but that wasn't going to stop him for yelling.

"Help! Somebody help!"

He didn't hear any cars, he didn't hear other people. It was silent.

"Somebody! Anybody? I need some help down here!" Dean yelled out the window at the top of his lungs. But no one seemed to care. But one person did seem to hear him. To his left, he heard Sam's move.

Not worrying about his leg, Dean goes and sits next to Sam again. He finds him sitting there with his eyes open halfway. Sam looks tired, like he hadn't slept for weeks. He stared forward, though. Not even acknowledging that Dean was there.

Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"You know I've never been so happy to see your eyes before?" Dean says with a slight laugh. He could feel relief wash over him slowly.

Noticing that Sam was still staring forward, he snapped his fingers in front of his face. Sam blinked once but didn't say anything.

Dean shook his shoulder again.

"Anybody home?" Dean says to Sam.

Sam didn't say anything. He just continued to stare.

"Sam, say something."

Dean seen Sam's chest rise shakily and fall slowly.

"It hurts," Sam mumbled to Dean, his eyes glazed.

"What hurts? Breathing?"

Dean could see Sam's shoulders move a little. "Everything," he admits.

Sighing, Dean nodded.

"I know. I'm sorry, Sammy; but, I don't know what to do."

Sam didn't say anything.

"What do you remember?" Dean asked, trying to keep Sam talking.

He was silent for a second.

"Trying to walk to you," Sam says. "Then everything started shaking. At first everything was alright and I was able to stand up afterwards, but then it happened again. I remember falling to the floor. I think I hit my head…that's it."

"That's it?"

Sam nodded.

"Sam," Dean calls.

He can see Sam's eyes look over at him.

"You're bleeding pretty bad," Dean admits. "Can I look at the back of your head?"

Sam nods slightly.

Trying to be as gentle as he could, Dean turns Sam's head to the side. He could sense Sam's body tensing up, in fear that pain would suddenly strike him. Taking the flashlight from the floor, Dean shone it at the gash on the back of Sam's head. He couldn't see it clearly, though. Sam's hair was too long to get a good look at it. But he could tell it was pretty big and it was deep.

Dean shook his head.

"We need to stop the bleeding," Dean thinks a loud.

He mentally coursed himself for not wearing a jacket, but silent praised Sam for actually wearing one.

"I need your hoodie, Sammy," Dean says gently, not even waiting for Sam to answer. He reaches up at unzips it.

"Ah!" Sam cried out when Dean's arm grazed across his stomach.

Startled, Dean quickly retracted his hand, afraid he was hurting Sam somehow.

"What?" he asks.

Sam sighs, his eyes falling closed for a second. "My stomach. It hurts."

Dean cricked his head. "One injury at a time, dude."

Sam breathed in and out ruggedly. "Ah," he groans, turning his head. "It's getting worse."

"Well I'm gonna have to take a look at it. Either way the hoodie comes off," he explains softly.

Sam doesn't say anything.

Being as gentle with his brother as he could, Dean slipped the jacket off his left arm with ease. But the right arm? Yeah, it was another set-back.

"Ow, don't touch it., don't touch it," Sam says with Dean tried to slip the last part of the hoodie over his arm. Sam's eyes were squeezed tight together and he bit his lip.

"Sam-"

"Please," he begged.

Dean shook his head. "We got no choice, Sam. We need it. _You _need it. I can't let you lose anymore blood."

He took hold of the end of the jacket again.

"Okay, get ready. On three."

Sam closed his eyes again and prepared for the pain.

"One…two!"

Dean slipped the jacket from his arm. Sam yelled out in pain.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean apologized. He folded the hoodie up and lifted Sam's head as lightly as he could. Smoothly, he slipped the already bloody hoodie under Sam's head. Sam hissed softly when the jacket came in contact with his open cut.

"Sorry," Dean says again, regretting having Sam go through this.

Sam turns his head, pressing his forehead into Dean's upper arm.

"My stomach, Dean," he groans, taking in labored breaths.

Responding quickly, Dean goes to lift Sam's shirt to see if there's any damage, but Sam's shaky hand come down on his wrist.

"Don't," Sam pleads with puppy dog eyes. Dean could tell this was hurting him the most, especially because he's terrified for Dean to even touch it.

Dean stops.

"Listen to me, Sammy. I know it hurts, okay? I know. But I have to look at it. How else am I supposed to see what's wrong? Please," Dean tries to bargain.

Sam breathes out slowly, wincing as another wave of pain washes over his body.

"It'll be quick. I promise."

Hearing sincerity in his brother's voice, Sam slowly let go of Dean's wrist, letting him gain access.

"Thank you," Dean says softly to Sam who has let his eyes close as he prepared for the pain.

As gently as he could, Dean lifted Sam's shirt. He only pulled it up as far as Sam would let him, though. When he got too far, he could feel his body tense up and his fist tighten as he tried to resist the urge of pushing Dean's hands away.

Looking down at Sam's stomach, he seen at least three dislocated or broken ribs. All around it had turned a reddish-purplish color from the irritation. Dean had to look away for a second. No wonder Sam was about ready to rip his head off when he tried to touch it. Dean could tell this hurt like something Sam never felt before. And as far as Dean could tell, Sam was handling the pain rather well considering what he saw. And for that, he was proud of Sam. Sam was being tough. Not just for himself, but for Dean, too.

"Oww," Sam moaned, letting his head drop to the side. Quickly, Dean put his shirt back and let go. He watched as Sam's face loosened up and his body began to relax as he pain eased a little.

Putting his hand on Sam's forehead, Dean felt the heat generating off Sam's face and body.

"Damn, Sam. You're burning up."

Sam doesn't answer. His rugged, slow breathing was Dean's only reply.

It didn't take long for Dean to realize what had happened. Sam had passed out from the pain.

_Shit_, Dean curses in his mind.

That can't be good.

* * *

Pain.

He was in pain.

Somewhere along the line he had collapsed into unconsciousness. But for how long?

Blinding and searing pain covered Sam's midsection. Pounding pain knocked at his head, blurring his vision from time to time. His arm had gone numb by now, nothing put fain memories of the pain he felt before still lingered in his head. Sweat dripped off the tips of his bangs, sliding down his cheeks like tears. He was woozy, sick to his stomach, hot as a blazing fire and confused. The smell of Axe and oil- the only thing that registered though the pain and sickness. And Sam knew why. It was Dean.

"Mmmmm," Sam moans as the pain picks up speed.

Sam could barely open his eyes.

"Dean," Sam's voice echoed inside his own head.

There was movement of feet.

A sound of something dropping.

And a pain filled curse.

He felt someone suddenly hovering over him.

"Sam?"

Sam drew in a slow, shaky, pain filled breath and let it out sharply.

"Hmmph."

Sam shivered.

"Hey," a gruff but gentle voice said. Cold knuckles moved softly up and down his cheek a couple of times. "I'm right here, Sam."

"How you felling, Sammy?"

"Hospital?" Sam's voice sounded foreign to himself, he wasn't even sure if it actually came from his mouth.

Dean shook his head. "Not exactly. Far from it, really."

Sam gulped down air. Dean's dark outline faded in and out of focus. Thinking about his brother's words, Sam instantly knew where they were. Damn it. They were still trapped in the basement.

"Why's it dark?"

"Flashlight gave out about an hour or so ago," Dean pointed out.

"An hour?"

Sam had been out for an hour? He tried to push himself higher on the wall but he stopped mid-movement when his stomach screamed in pain.

"Stop trying to move, Sam."

His body hunched forward, his bangs sweeping back and forth.

"Sam!" Dean called. His pushed Sam's shoulder's back so their gazed met. "You gonna pass out again?"

"Probably."

Sam felt Dean's hand tap the side of his face. "No way. C'mon, Sam."

Forcing himself to say somewhat alert, Sam opened his watery eyes and looked at Dean.

"You look like hell," Sam says in a soft voice noticing the distress and pained look on Dean's face. Seeing the way he kept looking around the room, trying to find a way out. He could tell something on him was hurting, be he didn't know what exactly.

"Me?" Dean questions, pointing to himself. "At least I look good. You look-"

"Feverish. Sick…."

"Feverish and sick works for you," Dean says with a faint smile.

Sam shrugged.

"I wanna go home," Sam whined, remembering the extreme pain all over his body.

Dean patted his chest.

"I'm trying, Sam. I'm trying. Just hand in there, okay?"

Sam's eyes began to get heavy.

"What about the door?"

Dean shrugged. "Tried. It's blocked. Probably jammed from the earthquake. It won't open."

"Window?"

Dean sighed. "Too high. I can't lift you out. I would if I could…"

"Then you go," Sam says, his voice becoming more and more tired.

Dean shook his head.

"I'm not leaving you-"

"What else is there to do?"

Dean was silent.

Sam let out another distressing breath.

"Please, Dean."

"Sam-"

"Please," Sam says again, this time with more feeling.

Dean was stuck. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't bring himself to leave Sam here my himself, but he couldn't let him suffer like this anymore.

"Dean," Sam says again, he reached over weakly and touched his arm. "Please, Dean."

There was no getting around it. Dean give in.

He grunted a loud, arguing with himself.

Dean looked up at the window then down at Sam.

_Damn it_.

Dean pushed himself to his knees. He bent down and hugged Sam, and he did something he never does.

Dean prayed.

He prayed that this wouldn't be the last time he seen his brother alive. He prayed this wouldn't be the last him he heard his brother's voice or had a chance to hug him. Dean just prayed that Sam would be alive when he got back.

Reaching into his back pocket, Dean took out a small pocket knife and handed it to Sam.

"Why?" Sam asks, looking at the knife in his hand, wondering why he needed it.

Dean shrugged. "Just in case. For anything."

Sam opened his mouth to argue something but Dean hushed him.

"Just take it, Sam. It'll make me feel a little betted knowing you have something to try to defend yourself with. Just in case, okay?"

Sam nodded. Reaching over weakly, Sam pulled his black, bracelet off his wrist and put it in Dean's hand. He nodded.

"Just in case, okay?" Sam says, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

Dean nodded and put Sam's bracelet on his wrist. Before he stood, he reached down and hugged him again.

"I'll be back," Dean promised.

"I'll be okay," Sam says back.

Dean wiped his eye and stood.

He took an overturned chair and stood it right under the window. He took a pole that was on the ground and broke out the rest of the window. When all the glass was out the way, he pushed himself up and out the window, leaving Sam along.

And just like that, Dean was gone.

* * *

_**Three hours later…**_

Dean sat in the waiting room of the San Diego hospital along with about twenty or thirty other people. It was amazing how many people were here at the hospital, but somehow Dean was shocked there wasn't more.

A very tall male doctor came around the corner. Everyone got quiet to see who he was going to call.

"Family of Sam Marshall?"

Dean felt like a lottery winner. He stood up slowly. There was a brace on his knee, supporting him, but he could walk without crutches.

"How is he, doc?"

The doctor flipped through the paper.

"He's got one dislocated rib and three broken ones, a broken wrist that's already been realigned, and a pretty good gash on the back of his head that's been stitched up, and some bruising. He's going to need to stay in the hospital for a little while. Maybe a week or two to make sure everything heals up properly."

Dean nodded. "Can I see him?"

The doctor smiled.

"Sure, follow me."

They went in the elevator and up to the third floor.

They walked down a long hallway and into Sam's room.

Surprising to Dean, he was actually awake when they walked in. He smiled slightly when Dean walked in.

"Hey, kiddo," Dean says smiling at Sam, happy as ever to see him alive.

Sam smiles.

"Hey."

The doctor smiles at them. "I'll leave you two alone. Just call if you need anything."

He closes the door.

"How'd you feel?" Dean asks.

Sam shrugs. "I'll live."

He reaches under his pillow. Dean looked at him curiously, wondering what he was doing. Soon he realized. Sam pulled Dean's pocket knife from under his pillow.

"How'd you get to keep that?" Dean asked, amazed. "I was sure they were gonna take that."

Sam shrugged. "I have my ways."

Dean smiled and suddenly remembered Sam's bracelet on his wrist. He tugs at it.

"I guess you want this back, huh?" Dean says, beginning to pull it off his arm.

Sam shook his head.

"No," he says, stopping Dean. "You can keep it."

Dean smiles a little.

Sam hold out Dean's knife. "Here."

Dean shakes his head. "You keep it, man. You know, just in case."

Sam put the knife back under his pillow.

"Yeah ,"he says, agreeing. "Just in case."

* * *

**Hope you liked it. Hope you didn't cry, either. I had my friend read this and she cried, that's why I put the warning. **

**But please review, it really means a lot to me.**

**And send requests for stories! I WILL try to write what you request, just write a suggestion in your review if you have an idea. **

**Thanks again, and please review!**


	9. Counting

_***Requested By: ramoniciu***_

_**Summary: Thinking they need some time off, Dean sets a day off to rent a boat and go fishing. But what was supposed to be a relaxing day turns into a deadly experience. (Season 2-ish , cast on Sam's arm and everything.)**_

_**Again, thanks for all the requests and keep them coming. I'm trying to do them as fast as I can without my head exploding. Oh yeah, and for those who were reading my other story 'Stonewall', I haven't updated in awhile because my beta is on vacation. Sorry guys. **_

**_Ramoniciu said angsty and dramatic, so here goes nothing..._**

"C'mon, Sam. Move your ass," Dean says, throwing two rented fishing poles in the trunk of the car and a cooler full of beer. He took the jar of worms off the ground and placed them in the corner so they wouldn't roll over. It was just three days before Sam's twenty-third birthday so Dean figured that he could use a relaxing day off.

Sam emerged from the motel room, his face showed no enthusiasm at all. He walked rather sluggishly toward the Impala. He looked at Dean briefly and then slid down into the passenger seat.

Soon, Dean closed the trunk after making sure they had everything they needed. He sat down and started the car. From the corner of his eye he noticed Sam's expression and rolled his eyes.

"Well, damn, Sam. Control your excitement, would ya?" Dean says sarcastically.

Sam chuckles.

Dean looked backward, checking for oncoming cars as he backed out of his parking space.

"What is it?" Dean asks. "Don't wanna spend a day with your big brother, huh? Afraid the kid will make fun of you?"

Sam smiled. "You?" he says. "No, I deal with you on a daily bases. But fishing? Come on, Dean."

Dean turns the car forward and makes an exit out of the parking lot. He hit's the radio and Led Zeppelin's "Ramble On" is playing. He drums on the steering wheel for a little before coming to a stop at the red light and turning his attention back to Sam who hasn't broken his stare on him.

Dean shrugged. "Fishing's fun."

Looking briefly at the silver Honda pulling up to the side of them. The woman in it was pretty. She had long dark hair and bright red lip stick. She smiled at Sam and tiled her head forward to see who was in the driver seat. When she seen Dean she arched her eyebrows and winked at him. But Dean didn't see. He was too busy rocking out.

Sam looked away from the woman. "And how many time have you been fishing?"

Dean looked down at his fingers. "Including today?"

Sam nodded.

Dean mumbled some numbers, did some math in the air and counted off some of his fingers.

"Zero."

Sam laughed a little. "That's what I thought"

The light turned green and Dean stepped on the gas pedal.

Dean looked at Sam skeptically. "So what's your point, smarty?"

"My point is: you've never been fishing. I've never been fishing. There's no reason to go, then."

Dean slows for the stop sign. "There's a first time for everything, Sammy."

Sam smiles and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you keep telling me that."

Pressing on the gas pedal and turning left Dean nods. "And maybe one day you'll listen."

Sam laughed, turning his eyes out the window. "This day should be interesting…"

* * *

"One hour," Sam complained. He banged the end of his fishing pole on the end of the boat and sighed.

Dean looks over at him but doesn't say anything.

"We've been on this water for an hour and we haven caught anything."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Maybe the fish are frightened by your stench."

"Sam, really. What the hell is your problem?"

Sam shrugs.

Dean holds his hand out, gesturing to the pretty white boat they were on. "I rented his boar for us. Look at it. It's friggin' huge! Today's a nice day. Everything's going great. But your attitude sucks."

"My attitude sucks? _Your_ attitude sucks. This fake personality you have. What's up with that? And fishing? Who the hell fishes?"

Dean smiles. "Are you drunk?"

Sam's mouth drops open. "What? No, I'm not drunk."

"Then what the hell, Sam? Just shut up and relax. I'm trying to have a good day with you and you're making it impossible."

Sam stands up.

"Fine," he says in a mumbled tone.

Dean fixes his line. "Fine."

Dean throws his line further over the yard drop to the water.

"Damn it," he says, tugging at his line. "Sammy, my line's stuck. Can you fix it for me?"

Sam looks at him for a second, then down at his line. Without a word, he stands and leans over the side, fixing Dean's line. Just when Sam was about to some back over, Dean's mind registered a thought.

He reached over and pushed Sam into the water.

Dean busted out laughing, he held his stomach and laughed do hard his mouth hurt. He dropped his line on floor and continued to laugh. He heard the sound of Sam clashing into the water in a few seconds. He looked over and seen his whole body go underwater.

Dean quickly gathered himself and took hold of his line again. He sat down, thinking that Sam would come climbing up the stairs soaking wet and pissed off.

A minute went by..

Then two…

Dean was getting nervous. He sat his fishing pole down and walked over to the edge of the boat and leaned over the guarding rail. His eyes wandered frantically all around the water in front of him.

"I know you can swim, Sam! Stop messing around!" Dean called, trying to keep calm.

At that moment, he was expecting Sam to emerge from the water laughing. His mood now lightened. But he didn't.

"Sam!" Dean called. He looked onto the water more thoroughly, trying to find where Sam was.

There was about a yard and a half drop to the water, but the bottom of the boar was about a yard and a half underwater, keeping it afloat. In easier terms: It was a pretty long drop to the water, and there was a lot of water to get lost in.

Dean could feel his heart pick up speed as he leaned further over the rail.

Nothing.

He didn't see Sam at all.

And at that moment Dean knew something was wrong.

Sam wasn't coming back up.

* * *

Breathing is something that Sam will never take for granted ever again. He'd do anything to have a lungful of air right now. He could feel his chest tighten and his heart beat beginning to slow. Sam tugged at his shirt that was caught to the bottom of the boat. It had gotten snagged to it when he was pushed over and he couldn't move. He couldn't get from underwater.

Sam was getting scared. It might've been purely in his mind, or it may've been true, but he could've sworn his cast was weighing him down. He could feel himself being able to sink deeper into the murky water, but not being able to emerge from it.

Where was Dean?

That was the only thing that could cross Sam's mind as he struggled with his shirt.

Take off the shirt. That would be the logical thing to do, right?

Sam's tried that. He can't maneuver enough to get either one of his hands out of his sleeve. He felt the boat move suddenly, smacking up against his body, pushing what little air he had left out of his lungs.

Uncontrollably, Sam gasped for air, only getting water. His hands came up to his throat as water filled his lungs. Suddenly, he felt his chest get this awful pain. Like someone was ripping it open. He couldn't take a deep breath to ease the pain. He couldn't even find the strength to massage it. He couldn't do anything. Suddenly, Sam was paralyzed.

He could still see, though. Blue-green water all around him and still no sign of Dean.

What the hell?

Taking the very last bit of strength left in Sam's almost lifeless body, he gave his shirt one more tug, trying to unhook himself. But, no. He was still stuck. His only hope was Dean.

'_You can always count on me, dude,'_ he remembered Dean saying once.

So that's exactly what Sam started to do: he started counting.

_1...2...3..._

By the time he got to three, his world started to fade. His eyes got heavy, his body relaxed.

_4...5...6..._

Black dots were beginning to cloud his vision. He felt his heart pounding, shaking his whole body. He felt his lungs begging for air, his body begging for mercy, and his mind begging for Dean.

7...8...

But pretty soon, within a matter of seconds, Sam felt nothing.

* * *

Dean dove into the water head first, deciding enough was enough. It's been about three minutes since Sam's been under. Three minutes too long, according to Dean. Sam could swim, he knew that. There was no reason for him to stay under that long unless something was wrong.

As soon as Dean's head hit the water he was freezing. The water was ice cold, he could feel himself shivering. As he bobbed in the water he searched the perimeter of the boat first, hoping to see Sam. When he didn't, he dove underwater.

He went to the bottom of the boat and planned to do a full 360 of it to see if Sam was somewhere under here, but he didn't have to go too far to find him. Through his red and unclear eyes, Dean seen Sam. He was right near the bottom of the boat. His shoulder unusually stuck to the boat. His back was arched backward and his arms were floating at his side. His hair was whooshing and waving all over the place, and his feet hung there lifelessly, just like the rest of his body.

Dean couldn't get there fast enough.

When he actually swam to his brother, he put his hand under his back, giving him support. He tried to pull Sam backward to take him to the top when he realized why his shoulder we unusually close to the boat. He was stuck.

_Of course he's stuck, _Dean thought sort of angrily _, Sam's too difficult to make this an easy rescue. _

Dean tugged at Sam's shirt. It wouldn't budge. How the hell did he get stuck that tight in a matter of seconds?

Dean pushed himself up more, getting a better look at it. Seeing it to bee too difficult to get out in a matter of seconds, he simply lifted Sam's arms and pulled at his waist until his body slipped out of the shirt. He began to sink helplessly to the bottom, but Dean gripped him tight and swam to the surface with Sam in his arms.

When they emerged from underneath the boat Dean was gasping for air. Too bad, Sam wasn't . He lay there just as he did when Dean has first got him. His head lay limply in the space between Dean's chin and his shoulder. Sam's arm was thrown around Dean's neck as Dean kept him above sea level. Trying to keep a good grip on Sam's slippery skin was tough so Dean adjusted his hand so that he was holding onto Sam's belt. It had a better grip on it, assuring Dean that Sam wouldn't slip out of his arms and fall back under. Dean was beginning to become more and more scared when he didn't feel Sam's breathing hitting against his neck as he tried to swim to the boat. He didn't feel anything.

Sam wasn't breathing.

"Oh my God," Dean says when he notices. But he shakes his head, quickly, not giving himself the chance to think.

"I got'cha, Sam. I got you. It's gonna be okay," Dean says softly into Sam's ear even though he didn't hear one word he said.

"We're gonna go back to the boat and everything's going to be alright, okay? You gonna be alright. You're gonna be fine," Dean continues. He could hear his voice beginning to quiver as he looked down at Sam's still form in his arms.

Taking no time to dwell, Dean began to swim.

Dean made it to the boat in record time. Getting up the ladder was a struggle. He had to walk upward, hold Sam, hold the rail, and keep his balance on a wet metal pole at the same time.

When he finally got to the top, he lay Sam's wet body on the ground as gently as possible. He didn't want to hurt him. The first thing he noticed was how his lips were beginning to turn a bluish color. Dean's hand was shaky, too shaky to try to find a pulse, so he did it the old fashioned way. Dean brought his ear to the center of Sam's chest and listened.

Almost instantly, he heard the faint and dull beating of Sam's heart.

But the sound of Sam's heart didn't bring too much relief. He knew Sam wasn't breathing and without him breathing, soon his heart would stop.

Dean took in a not-so-calming deep breath.

He was pretty much clueless on how to do this, but he was almost certain he'd figure something out.

Putting both his hands together, Dean put them on Sam's chest and pushed.

"C'mon, Sammy. Come on."

He remembered the doctors on television counting to a certain number and them checking if the person was breathing. Mocking them, that's exactly what Dean did. He began counting each time he pressed down on Sam's chest.

"One…Two…Three…Four…Five," Dean counted aloud, fighting back tears that were blurring his vision.

He bent over and tried to feel any type of air coming from Sam.

Nothing.

Dean wiped his eyes and started over.

"One…Two…Three…Four…Five."

Nothing.

Dean put his head down for a second. "Come on, Sam. Please!"

He started again.

"One…Two…Three!"

By now, Dean was more hitting Sam's chest than he was pushing on it.

Dean leaned forward, letting his forehead fall at the top of Sam's stomach for a moment while he tried to keep his tears at bay, but he couldn't. If Sam didn't wake up, if Sam was actually gone, it was Dean's fault. He's the one that pushed him over, and he'd be the one who didn't get to him in time.

"Sam, please," Dean cried. "Please, I'm sorry. Please wake up, Sammy. Please…"

Dean sat up, and wiped both is bloodshot eyes with anger, guilt, and frustration.

Dean slammed his hand down on Sam's chest with every word he said.

"Breathe, Sam!"

He pounded his fists in the center of Sam's chest.

Nothing.

Sam's head bobbles there lifelessly.

"Sam, please!" Dean yelled, tears ran freely down his face, dropping off his chin and onto his hands.

Dean brought his hands down to Sam's chest again.

"Damn it, Sam! Wake up. Please, wake up!"

At that moment, Dean was at a dean end. He hit Sam's chest with enough force to break it, but it did the most miraculous thing.

Just then, Dean heard the most beautiful sound: Sam gasping for breath.

Sam's upper body lifted slightly and turned to the side. Water was spewing out of mouth and onto the boat. He coughed hard, his face turning red. His chest was turning red, too, from Dean beating on it.

At first Dean was frozen, he couldn't believe it.

Sam was alive.

Finally coming back to reality, Dean reached down and brought Sam into a hug. Still, Dean felt himself tearing, but they were tears of joy this time.

"I thought I lost you, Sammy," Dean whispers, rocking back and forth with Sam in his arms.

Sam was still coughing. Dean could feel Sam's body jerk in his arms each time he coughed, but he didn't care. Sam would be alright and he knew it.

"I'm so sorry, Sam. This is all my fault," Dean continued, still rocking.

Sam hadn't answered , but he had stopped coughing but he was breathing heavily. His chin was rested on Dean's shoulder and his arms were loosely at his sides. Sam's wet hair dripped off the ends of his hair and onto the back of Dean's shirt.

Dean gripped Sam tighter. "I thought I killed you, Sammy," he cried, biting his lower lip to keep it from shaking. He quickly blinked the tears away and took in a breath.

Sam's weak coughs were his only reply. He felt Sam pull back a little, trying to release himself from Dean's choking grip.

"Dean, let go," Sam asks, gently. His voice is hoarse.

Instantly, Dean lets Sam go.

When he gets a good look at Sam he can see his color is coming back. He smiles at him.

"You're crying," Sam says in a soft voice.

Dean nods.

Sam pushed himself back to the rail of the boat, giving his back support to sit up pin the sitting position.

"'M sorry I scared you," Sam mumbles, resting his head on the rail, letting out a much needed deep breath.

Dean shook his head.

"I deserved it. I should've pushed you. I was just playing. I didn't think you'd get hurt," Dean explained.

Sam shrugged. "I know. It's okay. I'll be okay."

Again, Dean wiped his eye.

He stands.

"So what now?" Dean asks.

Sam smiles and just shakes his head. "Dean, I just wanna go home."

Dean nods, taking the wheel of the boat and turning it back in the direction they came from.

"Home sounds really good right about now."

* * *

**Was that dramatic enough for you? lol I hope you enjoyed it though. **

**Please review, send requests. **

**I'll be waiting...**


	10. Carry On

_***Requested By: YukinaKid***_

_**Summary: Sam's in withdraw and Dean has to convince him it's for his own good. **_

_**Thanks for the requests everyone. Keep them coming. I'll get to yours, I promise :]**_

One bed in the center of the room. No way out. One door looked from the outside. He was stuck. He was trapped. In a way, he was scared. His body ached, but his mind ached more. He was tired. Mentally tired. He just wanted this all to be over. Sam sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed the side of his face. His hands were shaky, his legs were tapping, he couldn't keep still.

Sam rocked back and forth . He grabbed the ends of his hair and screamed. He couldn't hold it in any longer. He had to scream, he had to yell. He had to do something to keep from going even more crazy than he already felt. A cold sweat came over him. Causing a hot-flash and the chills at he same time. His body shot backwards, laying him down on the uncomfortable bed. His body stiffened as a wave of pain and want came over him.

"Ahh!" Sam yelled at the top of his lungs. His body was hot but his heart was cold. He couldn't shake the feeling that Bobby and Dean no longer thought of him as the same person. He feared that they thought of him as some monster that they can only tome by putting in isolation. Neither of them have been down here since early this morning and even then, it was just Bobby. He had lifted the peep slip to the door and took a quick look at Sam. At the time, Sam wasn't facing the door but he knew someone was watching him. He felt it. And he could tell it wasn't Dean. Dean would've spoken, Dean would've came in. Dean would've done something, _anything_.

Without realizing, Sam sat up again. His stomach was queasy; he felt sick. Sam's breathing was uneven, rugged, and pained. He couldn't catch it. His lungs were tight, like someone was squeezing them. His stomach hurt, like he was being kicked. Physically and emotionally drained, Sam stood. Sluggish and heavy feet carried him to the wall. Banging his fists on the wall he yelled again. He wasn't sure why he was yelling, it didn't make him feel better. But in a way it calmed him.

He was hungry, but he couldn't even make himself think of food. Just the thought of it sickened him, but he'd kill for it right about now. His stomach growled every once in a while, but his mind screamed that nothing would satisfy him quite the way demon blood would. He shouldn't want it, Sam knew that. He didn't need it, Sam knew that, too. But he wanted it, and he wanted it bad.

There was only one thing Sam hated the most, and that's being alone. Being by himself would kill him faster than any bullet, spirit, or demon could. And Dean knew that. And that's exactly what angered Sam the most. If Dean knew Sam hated being by himself, why would he put him here? What type of brother would intentionally hurt their younger brother?

Turning around and pressing his back to the wall, he slid to the floor. His feet tapped over and over again in a steady, rapid beat. His legs was shaking. To steady them, he wrapped his hands around them and pulled them to his chest. He put his head on his forearm and rocked back and forth. The sweat from his forehead rubbed off onto his lower arm and dripped onto his unbuttoned shirt. Sam cried out. Why did he feel this way?

He heard the sound of footsteps, but not the sound of a door opening. Cautiously, Sam brought his head from his arm and looked up. To his surprise, Dean was standing over him. Hatred etched in his face and disappointment clearly seen in his eyes. Dean rolled his eyes and walked back a few steps.

"You're pathetic, Sam."

He could feel his mouth drop open in shock.

"Dean-"

"Shut up, Sam."

His mouth closed, impulsively listening to his older brother. Sam could feel his heart pick up speed. He was worried, he was nervous. Something he never felt around Dean before. And worst of all, making this whole experience even worse, Sam felt like he couldn't trust Dean anymore. And that's what made Sam want to rip his heart out and just give up. He's feeling something he'd never feel with Dean. Distrust.

Pacing in front of Sam Dean crossed his arms across his chest and shook his head. His boots scuffed against the floor. In this light, his leather jacket looked a deep charcoal black. Half his face hidden by the slight darkness, giving him sort of a 5'oclock shadow. Miraculously, his eyes had turned a grayish color, making him seem even more evil.

He pointed to Sam. "Look at yourself," Dean hisses, having a staring contest with Sam as he paced in front of him, his arms still crossed. "You're so weak, Sam."

Sam kept obtained his stare, doing all he could to keep a straight face. He didn't know what Dean as acting this way.

"Dean-"

"Did I tell you to speak?"

Sam was silenced.

Dean shook his head as he crouched down in front of Sam. His eyes piercing into Sam's as he stared him down. A small, but raging fire in his eyes. Sam could literally see the flames. Suddenly, the flame was on Dean's hand. He smiled at Sam as he brought it closer to his face. Sam brought his face back, pressing it as far as it would go to the back of the wall. He turned his face to the side, trying to move his face away from the flame.

"What's a'matter, Sammy? Scared of a little flame?" Dean taunted, bringing it closer to his face. Sam could feel the heat radiating off the fire, causing him to sweat.

Dean knew Sam had a fear a fire. And after their mom's and Jessica's death, it was understandable.

Sam grabbed Dean's wrist, trying to keep his hand away.

"Dean, stop," Sam says in a weak voice.

Dean dropped his hand and magically the flame disappeared. He laughed a little. Dean grabbed Sam by his shirt collar and hoists him to his feet. Dean pushes Sam to the wall, knocking his head. Protectively, Sam pushed Dean back, but just as his hands were about to make contact with Dean's shoulders, he disappeared.

Sam's eyes go big, amazed and scared at the same time.

Tears swelling in his eyes, Sam slid back onto the floor. He wiped them away angrily, upset at his own, sick hallucinations.

Having enough, Sam pushed his aching body to his feet. He stumbles to his feet and when he feels his bed at his knees, he tips his body over and falls into the bed. All he had to hope for was that sweet, sweet unconsciousness would take over soon.

* * *

"Sam."

The voice pierced through Sam's blank dream. He tried his best to ignore it; he tried to stay peaceful. Sleeping was the only thing that was keeping him calm enough to stay still. He knew he'd been sleep for a while, but he wasn't sure how long. But he didn't care. It was calming, it was peaceful, and it didn't feel half as bad as being awake.

"Sam, calm down."

_Calm down? I am calm._

Sam was confused, but didn't want to see what all the fuss was about. As far as Sam was concerned, he was more comfortable and in a reasonable state of mind than he'd been in a while and he wasn't passing that up for just anything. He'd need to hear a good reason to go back to consciousness and deal with the fever, the chills, the shakiness, and the nausea again.

He felt a hand rest just above his eyebrow and stay there for a second. Then the voice was back. It said, "You know I'm not gonna hurt you. Stop moving. Sam, stop."

Not being able to take being clueless anymore, Sam forced his eyes open. His eyesight was blurry for a while. It was just a big blur of dark colors, swirled together. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second and reopened then slowly. His vision was clear now and he seen Dean standing over him. His eye full of worry and compassion now, instead of the pure hatred and fire the other Dean had.

Not taking any chances, Sam reached his hand up, touching the side of his face.

"You're real?"

Dean nodded, his facial expression staying the same. "I'm real, Sammy."

Sam tried to sit up, but found it impossible because Dean's hands were placed firmly on his shoulders, binding him to the bed. Sam looked down at Deans hands then up at him, confusion written clearly all over his face.

"You were flipping out," Dean explained. "We heard you all the way upstairs screaming your brains out."

Sam shook his head. "No, I was sleeping. I-"

Dean shrugged. "Some people sleepwalk, you happed to sleep-scream."

Hoping to lighten the mood, Dean flashed his famous smile at him.

Sam shook his head, not able to tell between dream and reality anymore. He pushed at Dean's hands frantically. "Get off me! Get off," he yelled, rolling backwards and onto the floor.

Dean stood, surprised by his sudden outburst. Not giving up though, he walked around the bed in the center of the room and sat down on the floor next to him. Cautiously and slowly, Dean put his hand on Sam's back.

"Sam, calm down. It's alright."

Sam shrugged his hand off.

"No," he says. "Nothing's alright. I'm not alright."

"But you're gonna be," Dean says, his voice full of hope for Sam getting better.

Sam moves away, pressing his back to the bed.

"You don't want me to get better," he says, rocking back and forth, his hands tapping at his sides. "You want to get rid of me, don't you? I understand. I'm a monster. I'm evil. I'm a killer."

Dean dropped his head into the bow of his collar bone. He shook his head.

"You're not a killer, Sam. You're not evil either."

"Yeah!" Sam says, standing. He tugs at the back of his hair and lets out a shaky deep breath. "Then what am I then, Dean? Crazy? I'm definitely that."

Dean shook his head. "You're not crazy, Sammy…"

"No bet on that," Sam shoots back. "I feel crazy. And look at me," Sam points to himself. "I even look crazy! I- I can't stay still. Look, I'm sweating but I'm freezing cold. I'm tired but I can't sleep. I'm hungry but I can't eat. All I think about, all I _want _is demon blood. If that's not crazy, then I don't know what is!"

Standing, too, Dean takes hold of Sam's wrist and sits him on the bed.

"It's called withdraw, Sam. You know that."

Sam slams his hand down on the bed, startling Dean and causing him to jump back a little.

"Sam-"

"Why are you doing this to me, Dean?"

Dean sighs, "It's gonna help you, Sam."

"But why are you making me suffer like this? What've I done to you? All my life, all I've done is look up to you. Studying you. Trying to be just like you. And this is how you repay me for idolizing you? You- you _trap _me down here? What am I to you, huh? Some animal?"

Dean's hurt by Sam's words, but he has to convince and reassure himself that it's not Sam talking. It the withdraw. He's saying anything to get under Dean's skin, anything to have Dean let him out.

"You're not an animal, Sammy. And I don't think of you as one. All's I'm trying to do is help you. And this is the only way I know how," Dean wipes his eye. "I just want you to get better, Sammy."

Sam eyes soften. He puts his head in his hands and sighs. "I can't take this anymore, Dean. I can't take this feeling anymore. It's killing me."

"No, Sam," Dean interrupts. "The demon blood is killing you. That's what you need to understand."

"No you need to understand!" Sam shouts, his eyes bloodshot from the tiredness and from crying. "I'm your brother, Dean. Your little brother. Why are you torturing me?"

Dean looks away, trying not to give in to Sam's words. "Sammy, I'm not-"

"Yes you are. You don't know what it's like to feel this way. You don't know how much it hurts. Not matter what I do. It always hurts. And I can't make it stop," Sam says to Dean, his puppy dog eyes looking up at him, pleading Dean to take him out of here. "What is it? You don't love me anymore or something? You don't want me as your brother anymore?"

Dean shook his head. "Sam-"

"You think I'm gonna turn into one of those things, don't you? One of those things you have to kill?" Sam stand up straight and looks Dean straight in the eye. "Then just kill me already, Dean. 'Cause I can't take the pain anymore."

At that moment, Dean could feel his heart beginning to break. He shook his head, trying to keep Sam's words from entering his mind. Dean stands.

"I'm not gonna kill you, Sam. I'm not gonna hurt you at all. I want you- I _need_ you to understand that. I'm only doing this because you are my brother and I do love you. Me and Bobby want you to be better, Sammy. We want to get you out of here, believe me, we do. But we can't until you're clean of this stuff. That's the only way we can make sure you'll get better."

Sam walks forward into Dean, tears running down his face. Dean pulls him into a hug.

"I can't take it anymore, Dean. I just can't."

Dean nods. "Yes you can," he says encouragingly. "Just a couple more days, okay? Then everything will get better, I promise."

Sam cries onto his shoulder. He shakes his head. "I can't do it, Dean. I can't."

By now, Dean's blinking away tears.

"You're stronger than me. You know that, Sam? You might be younger than me, but mentally? You are stronger than me. You've been through so much. Too much. And considering all that, you've handled it well. Better than I would've.

You can beat this, Sam. I know you can. You just have to try."

Sam pulled away. "I've tried, Dean. I swear I have."

"I know," Dean says nodding. "Just for a little longer, okay. You only have to wait this out a little longer. Please, Sam. Keep fighting, okay. For me, please keep fighting."

Sam nods, walking back over to the bed. He lays his head down and stars up at the ceiling. Small tears still run down the side of his face but Dean could see he was trying no to cry anymore.

Dean reaches down and pats his shoulder. "That's my boy. Hang in there, Sammy."

Walking slowly, Dean heads for the door. He walks out but just before he closes it, he looks over at Sam again.

"I'll be back in a couple hours or so. Try to get some rest."

He sees Sam nod.

"Try to eat something, too. You're skinny enough."

And with that, Dean closes the door with a loud slam. Dean was worried, but he knew Sam would be alright. This was just something he'd have to overcome. He smiled slightly, feeling proud of his brother.

Inside, Sam could feel the urges and restlessness of withdraw taking over his body again. But he kept them at bay as much as he could. He had to be strong and he knew that. He had to be strong not just for himself, but for his brother, too.

And that, and that alone, is what gave Sam the strength to carry on.

* * *

******I hope that was okay. **

******I never wrote something like that before, but I have it a try. **

******Now is when I will really urge you to review, because I'm really curious to see what you thought. Please. **

**Send requests too if you have one :]**


	11. Lesson Learned

_***Requested By: Samgirl19***_

**Summary: Eager to prove his brother wrong, 6 year old Sam takes matters into his own hands. (Something quick, sorry)**

**Send in more requests, please. I'm not sure if I'm skipping some people by accident, but in general, I need another request to keep the series going. If you believe I skipped one of your requests, please send it again. Sorry about that.**

Dean felt accomplished. When John had brought it back for Sam, he didn't even know how to ride a bike yet. So Dean made it a mission to teach him. They went onto the parking lot of the motel and found a spot with the least cars. First, Dean rode Sam's bike for him to show him what it should look like. Even though the bike was small for him, Dean managed. Soon, he got off and handed the bike over to Sam. He held his hand out.

"Go ahead," Dean had said. Eagerly, Sam hopped on the bike. He had threatened to fall a few times, but Dean was right behind him the whole time, steadying the bike each time it teetered or tottered. At first, Sam thought he was doing it by himself, but when he peeked over his shoulder to tell Dean to look at him go, he seen Dean holding the back of his bike.

"Deeeean," he whiled, stopping the bike and putting one foot down to keep himself standing. His black and silver bike moving slightly under him.

"Whaaat?" Dean says back, letting go of the bike.

Sam looked at him for a second. "You're holding me up."

Dean shook his head. "No," he corrected. "I'm holding _your bike_ up. You just happen to be on it." He smiled.

Sam didn't find that too funny. He shook his head. "I can do it."

"Sure you can."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Just let go, okay."

Dean held both his hands up in surrender. "Fine, do it yourself. But wait." Dean quickly jogged into their motel room and came back with two plastic pieces with black wheels screwed into the ends. He bent down in the back of Sam's bike and tried to put them on.

Both Sam and his bike moved forward, dropping the training wheels to the floor. "I don't need those."

Dean opened his mouth to object, but Sam was already pushing off with his foot and trying tot get started. He had pedaled for a second or two before coming unsteady and dropping his foot to the ground to restore his balance. Dean stood where Sam had left him with his arms crossed across his chest and watched. Again, Sam pushed off and pedaled, but he soon lost his balance and had to put his feet down.

Getting upset, Sam looked back at Dean, telling him not to say anything. Dean stayed quiet.

In all attempt to prove Dean wrong, Sam pushed off the ground again, secured his feet on the pedals and rode. But this time he didn't lose his balance, he had it perfectly. He rode to the a few yards and then turned and headed toward Dean.

Smiling, Dean clapped his hands like an audience member. "Bravo, dude."

Sam smiled. "Told'ya I didn't need those."

Dean shrugged.

"Alright, well I'm gonna go put these back. Don't. Go. Far," Dean says sternly, making sure Sam understood.

Instead of answering, Sam looked at him blankly, waiting for him to go in the house.

Rolling his eyes, Dean picked the training wheels off the ground and into the house.

Once Dean was out of sight, Sam got back on the bike and pushed. He rode to the closes end of the parking lot and worked of his turn. Sam looked up and seen the long parking lot just calling his name. There were a good amount of cars there, but they were al parked and unmoving. Sam shrugged. _How much trouble can I get in fro going to the other end of the parking lot_, Sam thought as he made his way on his bike.

Pushing his legs faster and faster and picked up speed.

Just then, Dean came out the motel room. In his hand, he held two bottles of water for him and Sam. He looked to the left where he had told Sam to stay and expected to see him. When he didn't, his heart dropped.

Aggravated, Dean grunted. "I told him to stay right here."

Breaking his thought, Dean heard the sound of screeching tires, and a wailing horn. Then right after the sound of a bump and two people yelling. Dean head whips to the right and he sees what has happened. A green car had pulled into the parking lot. Sam was on the ground, his bike covering his legs.

Dropping the water on the ground, Dean runs to where everything was happening.

"Sam!" he yells.

The woman and the young girl who were in the in the car had gotten out and are on the ground with Sam. At first, Dean couldn't understand what the woman was saying because she was speaking so fast, but as he approached them he realized he was saying, "Did I hit you?" over and over to Sam.

Dean drops to the ground next to Sam. He's crying. More scared that anything. Dean notices a cut on his leg where the bike is laying over.

"Sam, you okay?" Dean says.

"Did I hit you?"

Dean shakes his shoulder. "Sam."

"Did I hit him?" the woman asks the young girl who's on the ground next to her. The girl is scared, too. She shrugs not knowing what to say.

Sam's still crying. He's not answering anyone.

Placing his hand under his chin, and turning Sam's head toward him, Dean asks, "Are you okay?"

Just then, there was yelling in the background. Everyone's head swoops to the yelling and they see John running full speed to where they were. He arrives in seconds and crouched in front of Sam.

"Sam, what happened, son?"

"I don't know if I hit him. I'm sorry. I didn't see him. Honest, I didn't," the woman says to John. He nods.

"Can you stand, Sam?"

Crying and nodding, John and Dean help Sam to his feet. Blood just under his knee cap trickle down his leg and drip onto the ground.

John shakes his head. "I don't think you hit him. He'll be alright. He's just a little shaken up."

The woman nods and lets out a sigh of relief. The young girl who's with her sighs too. They both stand. The woman puts her hand on the side of Sam's face.

"I'm sorry sweetie. I didn't see you," she says.

John nods at her. "It's alright. He'll be fine."

Both the woman and her daughter get back in the car and back up, giving Dean and John room to get Sam steeled and get his bike.

Lifting Sam up and putting him on his back John smiles at him.

"It's just a cut, son. You'll be alright."

Sam sniffles, finally calming down.

Getting the bike, Dean heads back over to where John and Sam were. "You're not hurt anywhere else, are you?" Dean asks.

Sam shakes his head no.

With Sam on his back, John begins walking, Dean at his side.

"Where'd you go, Dean?" John asks, looking at Dean. Now he felt guilty.

"I went to get him something to drink and put the training wheels back. I told him to stay right there, Dad. I promise."

John looks up and over his shoulder at Sam who had leaned forward and layed his head on John's shoulder.

"Is that true? He told you not to move, didn't he?"

Reluctantly, Sam nodded.

John shook his head. "In words."

Sam swallowed. "Yes, Dad."

As they were about to enter the motel room to fix Sam's leg, Dean grabbed both of the waters on the floor. All three of them headed inside. Leaning backward, John dropped Sam off on the side of the bed and he headed into the bathroom to get the first aid kit.

Dean handed Sam the Gatorade. Sam put his hand up.

"I don't want it. It's all dirty." he says, seeing the specks of dirt on the side of it from Dean dropping them on the ground.

Dean shrugs. "You're dirty, too. But we keep you."

John laughed.

Feeling defeated, Sam took the bottled water, brushed off the dirt and took a long drink.

Looking down at his leg, Sam cringed.

_Maybe I just should've listened to Dean, _Sam thought. _Lesson learned. _

* * *

**Please review. Don't forget to request!**


	12. Value

_***Requested By: Shannanigans***_

**Summary: Sam's first time getting drunk. **

**- Not really an exact time set, but around the time when Sam would just be getting his driver's license. Soooo, he's like 16/17, something like that. You decide; whatever works for you :P**

**Send requests, send requests, send requests, send requests (:**

_"... don't go to the party..."_

The sound of Dean's voice echoed in the back of Sam's intoxicated mind. He stumbled down the half-dead street . He kept on hand on the damp brick of the apartment building next to him. Shuffling his feet, he slowly but surely made his way down the sidewalk. His memory was like his vision: faded. He couldn't really remember much at this point. After his fifth cup everything sort of turned to mush. What he did remember was his first drink. It had a nasty but addicting taste to it. After he had downed that, the pain from his current life took a holiday and went away. Sam liked that feeling. It was unbelievable how great it felt to not have any weight on his shoulders. Once he came to that conclusion, he went for his second. Pretty soon that was gone and he was on cup number three. Cup three was vacuumed up quicker than the previous drinks. Sam wasn't sure what had came over him. He'd never had a drink before; not really, anyway. Dean had let him taste beer before a while ago, but even then he cringed at the taste of it. But this? This was different. This was good and Sam wanted more.

Whatever happened next was a mystery to Sam. What he remembered next was this : stumbling home, trying not to pass out. His sight was woozy, just like his balance. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get them to clear, but it only made him dizzy. He stopped for a second, trying to get himself together. Suddenly, Sam's knees made a buckling movement and he immediately put both hands on the brick wall, trying his best to stay upright. Seconds moved like decades. When he was sure that he would collapse under his own weight, he trudged forward. His final destination was home.

By a miracle or two, he made it to he front door of the motel he and Dean were currently staying at. He misjudged the step in front of the door and went stammering into it. He chuckled, fumbling with the keys in his pocket. After a moment of trial and error with the first three keys, Sam got the door open and entered.

The room was dark, but Dean wasn't asleep. He was sitting at the side of his bed with his cell phone in his hand. The small light from the screen lit up the facial features on his face, giving him this ghostly look. Once Dean seen the door swing open and Sam stumble in, he stood up, dropping the cell phone on the bed.

"I was just about to call you," Dean says, walking past Sam's bed, approaching him. "What part of 10:30 don't you get? It's midnight."

Sam was silent. He tosses his keys onto the bed and brushes past Dean.

Pushing his shoulder, Dean turns around. "Uh, I'm talking here," he says when Sam doesn't even acknowledge his presents. He raises both of his hands in question. "Where you going?"

Lightly using the side of the bed for balance, Sam walks zombie-like toward the closed bathroom door. It didn't take much effort for Dean to catch him before he entered the bathroom. He gripped Sam's shoulder and turned him toward himself.

"What the hell is your problem?"

With a little more force, Dean nudges Sam's shoulder. He was surprised how easily Sam lost his balance and he swayed backward until his back rested on the wall, angled weirdly.

With a soft but authoritative hand, Sam pushes of Dean's hand. "Ge'off me," he slurs, trying to make his way into the bathroom. Instantly, Dean felt the strong smell of alcohol on his breath. His eyes widened with shock and concern. Sam had borrowed the car tonight, did he drive drunk?

"You've been drinking," Dean says as more of a statement than a question.

Sam nodded slightly. "Gee, you're smart." he replies dryly.

Dean gripped Sam's shoulders, pulling him away from the wall. He sat him down on the bed. Dean flicked on the light and inspected Sam's quickly.

"You drove home like this?" Dean questions. His voice sounded furious, but it was more fear in his voice than there was anger. "You could've killed someone, Sam. You could've kill yourself!"

Weakly, Sam shook his head. He laid back flat.

"I walked," he mumbled. A mixture of fatigue and nausea flooded his body.

Dean felt relief wash over him, but he still knew that what Sam did was stupid. Maybe it was just shock he was feeling? He'd never seen Sam drunk before. All of this was new to him. Hell, it was new to both of them.

Right in the middle of Dean's thoughts, Sam jolted forward and made a breakaway for the bathroom. Dean followed close behind, but it was only seconds before he heard Sam coughing up whatever had hand drank tonight. From the doorway, Dean watched his back arch forward as he sat on the floor with his head over the bowl of the toilet. His hand gripped the corner of the sink. Dean seen his hand clench the side of it whenever his body heaved, trying to get rid of it's contents.

Unable to stay upset, Dean walked over to him and sat on the side of the tub. He rubbed Sam's back softly as he watched in disgust. He shook his head when Sam heaved again, spewing more vomit. Dean looked away. Minutes later, Sam had nothing left to throw up and was simple dry heaving.

"It''ll be alright...you'll be okay. Just get it out, it'll make you feel better," Dean soothed. He continued to rub small circled on Sam's back until he had brought his head back and let it drop forward into the bow of his collar bone.

Dean eyed him closely. "You good?"

Sam didn't answer. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to calm himself down. Standing, Dean held his hand out, wanting Sam to take it.

"C'mon, get up, Sam."

The younger brother didn't even make an attempt to stand. He couldn't. He still felt sick, his chest was burning like someone lit a match inside it, and everything was spinning. Again, he felt Dean push his shoulder.

"Can you stand?" Dean asks, but doesn't even give Sam a chance to answer. He leans forward, pulling Sam off the ground. His feet hit the floor, but he doesn't have any balance and falls into Dean.

Fixing his grip, Dean takes hold of Sam properly. He doesn't even bother to ask him if he's ready to move. Dean walks slowly with Sam. He carried him more than he simply supported him. Sam's feet moved robot-like, but it didn't really help anything.

Finally, Dean got Sam to him bed. He dropped him onto it and pulled the sheets from under him. Quickly, he removes Sam's sneakers and socks. Then reaches for his jacket. That was pretty easy, too. Sam was half awake; Dean could see his dulled hazel eyes looking up at him with a mixture of regret, pain, and confusion. By the time Dean got around to taking off Sam's slightly stained shirt, Sam was trying to fight him off. Every time Dean tried to lift the white shirt over his head, Sam's hand would swat at his and he'd mumbled something incoherent .

Getting annoyed, Dean took hold of his brother's wrist firmly and pressed them at his sides with a little force. Dean wasn't sure what Sam thought he was trying to do, but he had his drunken mind set on pushing Dean away.

"Stop," Dean says strongly but gently. "You know I'm not gonna hurt you."

With that, Sam's hands stop resisting and Dean's able to remove his shirt. He throws it across the room and pulls the blanket over Sam.

Sam closed his eyes then, but he felt Dean walking away from him. He heard the sound of the toilet flushing and the door on the medicine cabinet hit the wall as Dean opened it, then the sound of running water from the faucet. Moments later, Dean returned.

He tapped the side of Sam's face and pulled him into the sitting position.

"Pop and swallow, Sammy," he says, lying the pill in Sam's palm and putting the glass of water in the other.

Almost obediently, Sam dropped the pill onto his and washed it down with that water. When he was done, the glass was still half full and he tried to hand it back to Dean who declined.

"Drink it all. Trust me, you need it."

Reluctantly, Sam finished the rest of the water and flopped back into bed. Dean reached forward and felt his forehead. No sign of fever, just one drunk kid.

Dean couldn't help but smirk a little. He never thought he'd see the day that Sam came home drunk. He sat down on the edge of his bed and watched Sam soak up so much needed sleep. He'd be alright for now, but he'd have a killer hangover in the morning. Again, Dean smirked at the thought of that.

He rubbed his lips. "What you did was really stupid, Sam."

Sam didn't answer, and Dean wasn't expected to. Dean sighed, watching his forehead smooth out as he begins to relax.

"But I'd have to admit, it was smart of you to know not to drive. Good job," Dean looked away. "You shouldn't have gotten drunk in the first place," Dean pressed. He shook his head. "But good call."

Dean stood up and leaned over Sam's now sleeping form to grab his keys and suddenly his mind flashed back to his precious car.

"I swear, if my friggin' car is messed up, and I mean _even_ a little scratch on it's pain job..." Dean stopped, and shrugged. He looked down at Sam again. He was safe. He wasn't hurt. He was alive.

Dropping the keys onto the nightstand between them, Dean sat back a little.

"I guess you're worth more than a car, huh?" Dean sat forward with his head in his hand, watching Sam sleep, just as he did plenty of times before. Dean nodded. "You're worth way more."

* * *

**Did you like it? I hope you liked it :**

**Thanks for the request. Thanks for reading. And thanks for reviewing (hopefuly)**

**If you haven't already, check out my newest story titled "All Jokes Aside", you might like it. **

**Anyway, send requests; send suggestions; send questions- whatever.**

**Write something! Please review.**


	13. Double Dose

_***Requested By: Dani (You weren't signed in when you requested this, so I'm sorry if the name's not right or something :P)**_

_Now, I know that you're thinking. You're probably saying something like this :_

_You: Cie (my name, feel free to call me that if you choose), you just updated yesterday. Why are you updating again so soon?_

_Me: Well, extraordinary reader, there is exactly four reasons why I'm updating. _

_You: Oh please, do tell._

_Me: Well (1) you guys deserve it. This was on hiatus for a bit while I got my other story 'All Jokes Aside' set up. (2) I've never written something like this before, so I figured I'd give it a try. (3) I'm bored to pieces. And finally, (4) there's sorta kinda an announcement at the end. _

_You: Ohhhh okay... can I read the chapter now?_

_Me: Sure, knock yourself out (:_

**Summary: How to you possibly take care of someone who's sick, when you're two seconds from passing out yourself ?**

**Send requests, send requests, send requests, send requests (:**

Either the room was on fire, or they literally felt their fever rise another degree. It's been said that things are better in twos. But in this case, it only made things worse. What good can two spiking fevers, two headaches, twice the raging coughs, four sweaty palms, two scratchy throats, and two clouded minds do? If you guessed 'nothing', then you're correct.

The room was a mess ; covered in dirty clothes, used tissues, seemingly non working pills, and the smell of sick and medicine in the air. Sam groaned, rolling over, the side of his hair stuck to the damp pillow. He kicked restlessly at the covers that shielded his overheated body and weren't satisfied until they had slid onto the floor. With a sigh, he threw his arm out and squeezed his hand into a fist. Everything hurt. For a split second, he opened his eyes and instantly regretted it. Even the dull light that shined barely through the slits in the curtains burned his eyes. He moaned at the pain and buried his head deeper into the pillow.

"Wh't's a'matt'r?" came a muffled voice.

Dean tried to pick his head up from the warm pillow but found it almost impossible. His head felt like it weighed a million pounds and was covered in hardened cement. His nose was stopped up, his throat was scratchy and 'sunset red' as Sam had put it. It hurt to breathe, let alone talk. Somehow through the almost distant and distorted dream he was having he heard Sam call out. Bringing the hand that was tucked under his pillow out, Dean reached in Sam's direction.

"Sam?" Dean called, forcing himself to look up.

He seen Sam sprawled out on his bed. Literally half of his body was almost of the side of the mattress. His hair was matted and wet; it stuck to his forehead and the side of his face. Small trickles of sweat ran from under it and onto his chest, just to fall off onto the sheet, making a puddle around him. Sam mumbled something that Dean was sure was nonsense. He licked his dry lips, trying to get some type of moisture in his mouth. He sighed deeply. Dean seen his eyes scrunch together and then smooth out slowly. He then mumbled something again.

Grunting very audibly, Dean pushed himself into the all four's position : one step closer to standing up. Next, he sat back onto his legs. His eyes were open just a slit and they were already hurting. He rubbed them with his clammy hands and groaned. A second passed as he mentally prepared himself for standing. He put his right foot to the floor and tested his balance. Kind of shaky, but bearable. He slid off the bed and into a hunched standing position. His back hurt and his stomach hurt from lying on it for who knows how long. Taking in a deep breath he walked forward sluggishly over to Sam's bed. Dean leaned forward supporting himself on the nightstand . With his right arm, Dean used whatever force he had left to push Sam's dead-weight body back onto the bed. Sam's head turned in Dean's direction and looked up at him groggily. He squinted at Dean.

"What're you doin' up?" Sam asked sleepily. For a moment, his eyes roamed the room, trying to get this thoughts straight.

Dean coughed violently before finding his voice again.

"You okay?" Dean questioned back, his voice even deeper than usual.

Sam swallowed hard, fighting the feeling a nausea. The room swayed back and forth like a boat on an ocean. He slipped his hand under his bangs and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Sam eyes Dean closely. He had a look like he could drop to the floor any second. At first it was like Sam and Dean's fevers were in competition to see who's could pass 100 quicker. For a while, Sam's was higher. It spiked to 103.5 in the matter of hours and that scared the hell out of Dean. Soon after, Sam's fever dropped a little. ; staying stubbornly at 102.3. That's when Dean's fever took it's turn. His wasn't at high as Sam's but it sure took a tole on Dean. Quickly, he was sick, dizzy, and weary.

Weakly waving his hand, Sam says, "C'mere."

Dean leans closer, expecting Sam to say something to him. Almost to his surprise, Sam's heavy hand rested on his forehead for a moment.

Sam sighed, fighting to stay awake.

"Your fever," he starts. Suddenly, his chest started to burn. He coughed. "It's higher."

Dean shrugged, quickly brushing his hand over Sam's head. "You too."

Both brothers exchanged looks; both of them longing to help one another, but neither of them having the strength. Sam counted to three in his mind before forcing himself into the siting position. Even though he sat up slowly, he was almost unbearably dizzy and leaned forward into his arm. Even though he did all he could not to cry out, he did. A moment later, he felt Dean's and against him back, assuring him that he was still there. A few second passed and the dizziness subsided a little. Seeing that as his only opportunity, Sam stood up.

He put his hand on Dean's shoulder, gesturing him back to bed.

"Go lay d'wn," Sam instructs. Even though Sam was dying to go lay back down, he knew he needed to help Dean, so he pushed his own needs aside to tend to Dean's. Either Dean was hopping Sam would say that or he was no was no way in the mood for arguing because he simply turned around and flopped into bed.

Staggering forward, Sam finally made it into the bathroom. Off the railing, he took the washcloth and wet it with the coldest water the faucet would allow. Once it was completely soaked, Sam wrung it out and trudged his way back over to Dean. After folding the wash cloth once, he placed it on Dean's forehead and went back to his bed.

It couldn't have been ten minutes later when Sam felt Dean waking him again. Through his unclear vision, Sam looked up at Dean. His head was pounding, like someone with a jackhammer was working on his brain. He opened his mouth to speak but Dean shushed him before he even had the chance to form a word.

"Take this," Dean commanded gently, helping Sam sit up.

Without question, Sam took the pills. Once they were swallowed, he said, "You take yours?"

Dean nodded. He reached over onto the nightstand and reached into the bowl of water that wasn't there the last time Sam was awake. He grabbed a washcloth, swam it around in the water for a bit, got rid of any excess water , then placed it softly on Sam's forehead. Gently, he pushed Sam's shoulder, having him lay back down.

"Go back to sleep, Sammy," Dean mumbled, dropping back into his bed.

And for that moment, and that moment only, there was peace.

But an hour later? Well, there was chaos again.

After a horrible forty-five minutes of tossing and turning restlessly, Dean had finally resided to one side of his bed. For the first time in a while, he was comfortable. Just as he was about to drift off to sleep, he heard the sound of Sam's heavy footsteps stumbling into the bathroom. At first he didn't think much of it, but then he heard him throwing up. Dean's head raised slowly, suspiciously.

"Sam?" he called drowsily.

There was noise that Dean could exactly pin point at the moment and then the sound of the toilet flushing. Next, there was the sound of the faucet running and then there was total silence for a solid minute.

Dean was becoming worried when Sam didn't answer right away.

"Sammy?"

Just then, Sam's body casted a shadow on the wall as he exited the room. Dean seen his face was wet and the tips of his hair swayed back and forth as he walked toward Dean's bed. Sam dropped to the side of Dean's bed, pushing his head into the pillow.

Dean pushed his side. "Not your bed, dude."

Sam mumbled something, turning his head away from Dean. Again, Dean pushed him gently.

"C'mon Sam, get up, kiddo"

Dean sees Sam shake his head, holding his ground.

"Why not?"

Sam lifts his head a little, just enough so that his words come out a little clearer.

"You bed's colder," Sam grumbles, dropping his head back onto the pillow.

Dean sighed. He shook his head, rolling over so they're back to back, and made himself comfortable. Just before he fell asleep, Dean promised his self he'd kick Sam out his bed, but that'll have to wait until he got his strength back.

* * *

**Soooo, I know that some of you have been giving me the evil eye for quite some time now because I missed your requests. I'm so sorry, guys! It's kind of hard to keep up with. **

**But! I have a solution: recently, I went through every review ever made for Agony and wrote down alllll of the requests and who they belonged to. I'm pretty sure I have all the requests that I've missed. Trust me, I'll get to yours and since I have them in a list, I won't miss them, so please be patient. **

**But, but! I STILL want you guys to send in requests. As many as you want! And since I'm writing them down, I can keep total track of them!**

**So please review, and if you have a requests, include that too. Don't forget to tell me what you think about this story, too!**


	14. Frozen

_***Requested By: Milael***_

_I forgot how much fun I have writing for 'Agony', so I'm back with yet another chapter. 3 stories in 4 days? Man, I'm on a roll (:_

**Summary: The temperature is 24 degrees Fahrenheit (-5 degrees Celsius) and dropping my the hour...**

**Send requests, send requests, send requests, send requests (:**

Dean couldn't tell you how and he couldn't tell you when, but he lost Sam somewhere in the miles and miles of snow they're on. They had gotten a call, it was a lead for what were called Snow Lions. They supposedly took one couple hikers once every six and a half months and bled one of the people dry, leaving a trail of blood to their body so their partner could find then drained dry. That thought crossed Dean's mind and he immediately blocked it. Sure he and Sam had came here together. Sure they magically get separated. Sure he can't find Sam now and could literally feel and hear his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. But that didn't mean anything bad happened to Sam, right? He's too smart to fall into one of the traps the Snow Lions might have planted, right?

Dean let out a deep breath, watching the white cloud float and disintegrate into the cold, white air. He looked around. All he seen what white. The side of the mountain they were on had nothing but what seemed like miles and miles of snow. The few scattered trees were leaning to one side, the weight of the snow pushing them toward the ground. The wind picked up, blowing hard snow under Dean's hood and into his face. With his glove covered hands, he wiped it away as quick as he could, shivering at the extra coolness it brought to his face.

He stopped then and did a complete 360, trying to spot Sam's tan jacket in this bucket of white. Dean didn't see him at all. The thought of calling his name crossed Dean's mind, too, but he could barely hear himself think in this raging wind so he highly doubted that Sam would be able to hear his calls. Dean sighed. His insides were just about as cold as his outsides and his legs were tired, but he wasn't and couldn't give up.

Walking in this snow was like trying to walk through drying cement. It made his legs feel like they weighed thirty pounds and it literally knocked the wind out of him just to keep going. He was gassed after just a few steps. Across the way, he had spotted a cave-looking thing. It had a tall roof and looked like good shelter from the now and the wind, not so much from the cold though. But if Dean knew Sam like he's sire he does, he probably went there to get out of the storm. Basically, it was his only option. Dean looked down. He didn't see any footprints beside his own, so he knew for a fact that Sam hadn't been there. Also, he had already checked the right side of this winter wonderland, so the left side was all that's left.

After what seemed like forever, Dean finally made it to the cave. He leaned on the side of rock and caught his breath. Sucking in all the cold air really did a number on his lungs. They burned in the freezing cold type of way. His hands had that tingling feeling in them that let you know that you were getting too cold and he felt his bottom lip tremble for a moment or two. Dean entered the cave and immediately felt his heart drop and skip a beat at the same time. What he seen was exactly what he hoped he wouldn't. Sam was sitting on the far right hand side, trying to stay away from the storm. His not-thick-enough tan jacket was still halfway zipped up, even though Dean had told him to zip it completely earlier before the storm picked up. But there was a huge difference in Sam then there was before: he was soaking wet. It literally looked like he ran through a sprinkler. Even from where Dean was standing he could see him shaking. His color was going and his hands were balled into fists at his sides. Dean approached him as quickly as he legs would allow, but to Dean it didn't seen nearly fast enough.

Dean was on his knees in a second. He tapped the side of Sam's face.

"Sam, can you hear me?"

Sam's face stayed still. He was like a statue. The ends of his hair dripped water onto his cheeks , making him look like he was crying. With shaking hands, Dean reached out and placed two fingers on the side of Sam's neck. He waited for what felt like three decades before he felt Sam's faint pulse pushing back against his finger. Dean's head dropped forward in relief. Again, Dean tapped the side of Sam's face, hoping for him to wake.

"Wake up, Sam," Dean cooed.

Again, nothing. Sam just sat there. Dean couldn't help but wonder what the hell happened. He was completely wet, obviously freezing, and unconscious. Not a good combination, by the way. His breathing was slow and shaky.

Getting anxious, Dean grabbed two handfuls of Sam's jacket and shook him. Unintentionally, Sam's head bounced off the rock a few times from Dean shaking him. Beside the fact Sam hit his head, it actually worked. Slowly, his eyes opened some and he looked wearily at Dean. He didn't say anything, but he had that look in his eye that told Dean he was completely confused.

Dean smiled at him slightly, purely happy to see him awake.

"Hey kiddo," Dean greets, trying to keep his voice calm. The last thing Sam needed right now was for Sam to hear him freaking out. That'll only scare him and make him worried. Dean let go of Sam's jacket. He put his hand on his shoulder.

"You remember anything?"

Sam's eyes wandered for a moment, trying to remember where he was and what had happened. He was quiet for a few seconds and Dean was beginning to think that Sam was still out of it and couldn't hear him at all. Dean tapped his shoulder, hoping it would catch his attention or make him focus a little more. Just when Dean opened his mouth to ask the question again, Sam shook his head.

"Tha' th'ng," he says the best he could His teeth were chattering.

Dean nodded. "What thing? The Snow Lion?"

Sam nodded, closing his eyes.

Jumping a little, Dean put his hand on the side of Sam's face, nudging him a little. Reluctantly, his eyes opened again.

"What'd it do to you?"

Sam stared at Dean emptily for a second or two before saying, "It was chasin' me. S-so I ran... I think I trip'd. The next th'ng I 'member is the shock of the w-water," Sam swallowed hard. He was trying to remember what happened after that. "I think I swam to the side again...the next thing I know, I-I'm here."

Dean nodded, taking a seat next to Sam. He shook his head, being out in the cold in wet clothes is _not _what Sam needs.

"You don't remember how you got up here?"

Sam shook his head slowly, then let it fall onto his shoulder, allowing his eyes close again.

Harder this time, Dean shoved his shoulder.

"I know the only thing on your mind is sleeping, but you just can't. You _can't _close your eyes, Sammy. You know what you can't," Dean says, his voice almost begging Sam to stay awake. Sam nodded the best he could, turning his face in Dean's direction. They didn't have eye contact at all, Sam seemed to have his sight set on Dean's necklace. But that didn't matter to Dean, he could stare at that for as long as he wants as long as his eyes stay open.

Dean wraps his arm around his brother, bringing him closer. In the back of his mind, Dean knew that sharing body heat wouldn't really do much at this point. Sam was literally almost freezing , and the fact that he's wet is only making a horrible situation worse. Grimacing a little, Dean zipped Sam's jacket up as far as it would go and pulled his hood over his head. In that moment, Dean thought back to earlier when he told Sam he would need a bigger jacket, but he insisted on otherwise, saying something about him being an adult and able to make is own decisions. Dean chucked ever so slightly. Sam was no where near an adult to him. Being twenty three was practically a baby to Dean.

Looking down at Sam's drowsy face, he noticed his eyelids getting closer and closer to shutting. In more of a jerking movement, Dean shook him. He was running out of outlets. In his arms, he could feel Sam's whole body trembling. Dean tightened his grip on him, bringing the top of his head just under his chin. Immediately, Dean felt Sam's ice-like hair just under his lip. Dean shivered.

"Talk to me, bro," Dean says in a soft voice.

Sam was quiet.

Dean shook his a little.

"Sam-"

"'Bout wh't?" Sam asked. His voice was slow and dead tired.

Dean shrugged. Personally he didn't give a rat's ass what they talked about, he just wanted Sam to talk.

"What's you do in college?" Dean asked. "You never really told me."

A moment passed and Dean feared that Sam had fallen a sleep. Just when he was about to shake him again, Sam began.

"There's not really much to tell, Dean," he mumbled.

Sam felt like a breathing ice cube. Everything was so cold, it hurt. His hands felt like they had knives going through them, so did he toes. His face was genuinely warmer than the rest of his body because it was rested on Dean's chest. His heart hurt, almost like it was becoming frozen itself. His lungs screamed at him to stop breathing. The constant expanding and contracting was sending spikes of pain through his body every few seconds. Sam was miserable. Sam was tired. Sam was scared. He had seen enough movies to know that he was in a pretty bad place right now. Sam knew good and well that just being out in this weather was bad, but being soaking wet, too? That was pretty much a death sentence.

Letting his mind linger, Sam thought back to when they were younger. Then all the years they'd go to different schools. Sam remembered how much he hated it. He hated being the new kid, and having to make friends all over again. But once he made those friends and finally got comfortable with those friends, he'd have to up and leave them. Sam remembered that that was the hardest part.

Right in the midst of Sam's thought, he felt Dean pushing him again, calling him name. Sam shook his head.

"I'm 'wake,"Sam muttered. "just..."

Sam felt woozy then. He was more lightheaded than before and his stomach turned. Sam used his strength to push off Dean and face the other way. He felt Dean's hand on his back, question in his voice.

"Sammy what's wrong?"

Sam couldn't answer. A horrible flash of nausea hit him hard. It crept up his throat quickly and before he knew it, Sam's body jerked forward and his stomach emptied. But what he threw up wasn't right. Deep, dark red liquid came from Sam's mouth, staining the white ground. Sam sat back, his breath uneven with fear.

Blood.

Did he just throw up blood?

He felt Dean pull his shoulder back, and he heard him gasp a little.

"Dude...," he says at almost a whisper. He looked up at Sam whose face had now dropped at least a skin tone or two. Dean's voice was shaky and Sam could tell he was just as scared as he was. Sam let his head rest on the rock again, breathing heavily. Suddenly breathing got hard to do. Sam brought his hand up to his chest, his only attempt to help his breathing. He felt Dean wrap his arm around him again.

Dean pressed his head to the side of Sam's.

"Just calm down...keep breathing, okay? Just.." Dean didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. There was _nothing_ he could do.

Sam felt Dean's panic and it made him get more worried than he was already. Sam looked down, trying to stay in control as much as he could.

"Sammy, your hands," Dean says, astonishment in his voice.

Slowly, Sam looked down. His hands had gone past pale and had a slight blue tint to them. They were shaking. He tried to squeeze them into fists bout found it impossible. Dean took hold of Sam's hands and put them in his pockets, hoping to make them a little warmer. Exhausted, Sam lets his head fall onto Dean's shoulder. Almost instantly, his eyes fall closed and the darkness swallowed him whole.

Dean moved the shoulder that Sam's head was on, hoping it would wake him.

"Sam?" Dean calls, his voice quivering.

Sam was out like a light, this time there was no reaction whatsoever from him.

Not giving up, Dean tried again.

"Sam, please," he says, shaking him a little. "Open your eyes, Sam."

Nothing but the wind answered Dean.

Tears felt like they could swell in Dean's eyes any second, but it must've been to cold for him to conjure up any tears. Instead, his eyes turned really bloodshot-red and his lip quivered. He bit his lip, trying to keep it still. Dean shook his head.

"Don't do this to me, Sam. Please don't do this," Dean whispers, trying to think of someway to get Sam down to the floor level of the mountain where the Impala was. But who's to say that the car isn't buried by now? It's been hours since they first left it down there and piles and piles of slow had feel since then. Dean probably couldn't even drive in this snow.

Dean pressed his head a little further into Sam's and pulled him a little closer. Suddenly, Dean blamed himself for everything that happened even though it was pretty apparent that he had no control over the weather.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean says, looking out into the blowing snow. "I'm so sorry ; I don't know what to do."

-&&"&&-

The next thing Dean knew, there was two men in thick jackets and masks over their face trying to wake him. Dean jolted awake.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean asks.

The men exchange looks.

"We're rescue workers!" he shouted over the loud wind. "We got a call from another couple, they said they were stranded! We already have them in the other helicopter! We were doing a search of the area and seen your car down there!" The man pointed. "We've been looking for you for about an hour!"

Dean nodded, giving in to their help.

From there, Dean knew that it was smooth sailing.

He knew that Sam was in bad shape, but nothing a week in the hospital can't fix.

The other man brought in a stretcher and pulled Sam out of Dean's arm and laid him down on it.

Quickly, they took him out and into the helicopter. The other man helped Dean up and they, too , headed out of the cave.

As they ascended from the snow covered ground, all Dean felt was guilt.

Dean takes hold of Sam's hand and watches as the two mean place a oxygen mask over his face.

The warmth of the copter gave Dean a tinglingly feeling. Suddenly, Dean was tired again. Probably the stress from earlier finally setting in. But Dean had to push those feeling aside to do what he does best.

Dean moved up some, closer to Sam's head. Softly, he petted the side of Sam's hair.

"You're gonna be okay, Sam. I'll make sure," Dean promises.

And somehow he knew he was right.

Dean is Sam's big brother , and being that is what Dean does best.

* * *

**Hope you liked it. Please review. Send requests. **


	15. Switching Roles

_***Requested By: T. L . Arens***_

_Guess who's back (:_

**Summary: Fighting's never the answer ; didn't you learn that in school ?**

**Send requests, send requests, send requests, send requests (:**

"I need one more over here," Dean called. He grabbed the bottom of his beer glass and pretty much vacuumed up what's left. The liquid swam on his tongue for a moment before the flavor crawled his throat. He felt the acid drip into his stomach, giving him a weightless feeling. The woman bartender shot him a suspicious look. She sort of shook her head at him, probably thinking that he's had enough. But what did she know, right?

Dean smiled at her with his eyes, trying to make them shine in the way that Sam's does. He played with the ring on his finger, twirling it exactly each second that she avoided eye contact with him. Dean was getting impatient. He readjusted himself in his barstool, leaned a little further forward onto the counter, and cleared his throat. The girl- Megan, her name tag read - tossed her hair to the right, getting a clear look at Dean before walking over to the other side of the bar to help two girls.

After a minute or two, Megan finally approached Dean. He sort of rolled his eyes at her. He pushed his glass toward her.

"How 'bout you give me 'nother one sweetheart," Dean says as clearly as he could. He smirked at her. Even though he was starting to see in double, she was pretty. Dark hair, curly. Big eyes, blue. Plump lips, perfect. She played with her earring for a moment, debating if she should. She shrugged her shoulder and sucked her teeth.

She looked down the bar for a moment and then back at Dean. "I dunno," she says in a teasing voice. Megan grabs Dean's glass by the handle and runs her finger around the brim a couple times.

Dean licked his lips. "Aw, c'mon," he says, making eye contact. "What's one little beer?"

Megan was silent, but she let her eyes do the talking. Smiling a little, she turned around, put Dean's glass under the dispenser and filled it halfway. Dropping the glass back onto the bar, she slid it to him. With a smirk, he eyed the glass.

"It's half empty," he says, sliding it to her again.

She shakes her head. "Or is it half full?"

Megan pushes the glass back into Dean's hand and takes a step to the side, showing him that if he decides to slide it back, she wasn't going to be there to catch it.

Shrugging, Dean picked up the glass and drank half of the half full glass.

Clearly taking in interest in him, Megan leaned over the bar and put her hand on her cheek. She pointed to the class.

"Rough day?"

Dean chuckles. "Try rough life."

Megan smiles.

She looked around the room, as if expecting someone, then looked back at Dean.

"So," she starts. "tell me about yourself ; because all I know so far is that you drink like a fish."

Proving her statement right, Dean guzzles what's left of his beer.

Dean shrugs. "What really is there to know?"

She raises her eyebrows. "How 'bout your name."

He smiles and holds out his hand for her to shake. "Batman."

Megan pulls her hand away. "Are you gonna be serious?"

Shaking his head, Dean laughs a little. He retracts his hand. "I'm Dean."

Her only reply was looking away again.

Suddenly, she takes hold of Dean's hands. She looks at him sweetly.

"You have pretty eyes," she says to him, wonder in her voice.

Dean nods. "Yeah, so do you."

Just when Dean was about to make another move, he felt as strong hand on his shoulder spinning him quickly and pulling him off the bar stool.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the man yelled. He had dark hair and even darker eyes. The man had a thick beard and was probably twice Dean's age; but his muscles were huge. In his hand was a pool stick that he pointed threateningly at Dean.

Holding up his hand, Dean shoves his back. "I don't know what the yell your problem is, but I suggest you go back over to the table before I shove the pool stick right up your ass," Dean threatened, creating space between them.

The man pointed over Dean's shoulder. "That's my girl you're hitting on."

Dean looked back at her quickly.

"Well maybe you should tell your girl to keep her hands to herself."

Obviously, the bearded man didn't take that too well. He took hold of his pool stick with both hands and pressed it to Dean throat. He pushed Dean backwards, still choking him, until he was bent backwards over the bar. Megan simply took a step back so she wouldn't be in the way. She didn't even try to explain that he was the one who took hold of his hands or the one who was leading him on. Instead, she just watched.

Dean kicked at the man, sending him backwards into a table.

Smirking evilly, Dean stood up straight, rubbing his neck.

The man stood back up and walked back over to Dean. They stood eye to eye, waiting for the other to make a move. Suddenly, there were hands on both of their chest and a woman's voice saying "You guys cannot fight in here. Take it outside or settle down!"

They both choose the first option. Dean raised an eyebrow at the bearded man and headed for the door.

"See you outside," he says, pushing the door open.

Five minutes later, things escalated. Dean was outnumbered and drunk. He staggered on his feet. There were now three of the men. The bearded guy from earlier and the guy he was playing pool with, and there was another person who Dean didn't recognize from before. The circled him, fists up, ready.

Dean took a swing at the bearded man who blocked it and shoved him into the guy behind Dean. The man wore a bandana and had a goatee. He wrapped his arms under Dean's keeping him from being able to fight back with his hands. The bearded man took three shots to Dean stomach, each causing a different type of pain. Then, the mystery man that Dean didn't remember, took two shots to the side of his face. Dean was sure he'd have the beginning of a black eye in the matter of minutes.

Using the only option Dean had left, Dean lifted himself up, kicking both of the men into the brick wall behind them. With his head, Dean hit the man holding him in the nose, causing him to let go to tend to the sudden pain.

The two men charged Dean, one attacking his lower half, the other getting the upper. Almost immediately, Dean fell to the ground. On his back, Dean caught both of them in the jaw a few times but it wasn't nearly enough. Both of the men pounded on Dean. Hitting his head, his eye, his nose, and his jaw while the other kicked at his ribs and his legs.

Dean covered up the best he could, but a drunken body doesn't move as fast as a sober one.

"This'll teach you to mess with someone else's girl," the bearded man yelled, knocking his fist hard against Dean's lip. Almost instantly Dean tasted the all too familiar taste of blood in his mouth. He spit it out quickly before he choked on it.

The men stood Dean up, keeping his back on the wall. Dean punched at them and every so often he got them in the face, but his punches were nothing compared to theirs. The guy who was playing pool and the mystery guy held Dean's arms apart while the bearded guy took his turn. He got Dean in the stomach a few times, surely something was broken my now. Then, he caught one in the chest that sent a white hot pain through his chest cavity. Dean gasped for air but came up short. Finally, the bearded man took a hard shot to Dean's temple and he fell to the ground.

"Hey!" came a yell.

All of the men turned toward the voice.

There was yelling and the sound of a scuffle. He seen feet moving quickly and every so often someone shouted out in pain. Dean heard the speed of the punched and the heat behind the kicks and finally there were two bodies on the ground. Once appeared to be unconscious, the other was in too much pain to get up. Then, there were four legs. Two people standing. They circled eachother for a moment before one lunged at the other. They fought for about thirty seconds straight before somone's head went full speed into the brick wall. The man slid to the floor.

A moment after that, there was someone grabbing Dean's jacket and lifting him to his feet.

"Dean, you okay?"

Trying to clear his blurry vision, Dean blinked hard. Slowly, it came into focus.

"Sam?"

He nodded.

"Yeah, what he hell happened, man?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. You tell me, Bruce Lee."

Putting his arm around Dean for support, Sam shrugged.

"Well, they were whooping your ass. Someone had to save you."

Dean nodded, feeling a little embarrassed that he couldn't handle his own fight.

Looking up at him, Dean noticed his lip was bleeding and he had a bruise on his jaw. Dean reached up.

"Your lip-"

"You're not the one who should be worried right now," Sam says in a strong voice.

Dean looks away.

Sam hits his shoulder.

"Getting in a fight with three people is dumb, but trying to do it _drunk_? C'mon Dean, what were you thinking?"

Honestly, Dean didn't know. Apparently he had liquid courage.

Escorted by his brother, Dean headed back to the car and put into the passenger seat.

"How'd you know I was here?" Dean asked, holding his stomach, trying to make the pain go away.

Sam shook his head. "I dropped you off, don't you remember? You told me to come back in an hour, but I came back a little earlier..."

Dean looked away. "Lucky me," he says sarcastically under his breath.

Sam reached bast him and into the back seat. He takes the shirt that lying there and presses it to the side of Dean's head. He hisses at the pain and jerks his head away a little, but Sam keeps him in place.

"Yeah, lucky you," Sam says, tending to him. "If I didn't come back earlier, you'd be killed by now."

Dean was silent, knowing he's right.

Sam pushes his feet into the car and walks around to the driver's seat. He starts the engine and backs out.

He looks over at Dean who has rested his head on the seat, breathing quickly into his shoulder, trying to hide his pain.

Sam shook his head and turned the corner.

He'd have a lot of work to do when they got back to the motel.

For the first time in a long time, Sam felt like the big brother... and he liked it.

* * *

**Yeah, I know, I suck at writing Dean stories. Sorry. But I tried. 'A' for effort?**

**Check out my other story 'All Jokes Aside' , you might like it (:**

**Anyway, please review. **

**Please send requests (:**


	16. Wrong

_***Requested By: Mellypepper***_

_Hello again (:_

**Summary: Something just wasn't right... * 9 out of 10 people will tear up* you've been warned...**

**I don't really know what Season for this. Pick whatever Season makes you happy, I guess. But after you read it, let me know what Season you picked (:**

**Send requests, send requests, send requests, send requests (:**

Sam stared out the window at the cars passing below. From the forth story her could see everything from the zooming cars to the small diner across the street. Dean was on the other side of the room on Sam's computer. Very faintly, Sam could hear him saying something. At that point, he wasn't even sure if what Dean was saying was to him or if he was just simply talking aloud. Shifting his arm, Sam out it to the side of his head are rested it there. His hand were shaking, his heart was racing. Taking in a deep breath, Sam followed the woman in the sweat pants walking her dog. She had in headphones, seemingly blocking out the rest of the world. In that moment, Sam wished to be her. Even if it was just for a minute. She was happy; he wasn't. She was carefree; he wasn't. She had the ability to block out the rest of the world with just headphones; he couldn't. And most of all, she looked as if she enjoyed life... Sam didn't.

There was a voice in the back of his head, telling him to loosen up a bit. If Dean even sensed that something was wrong, everything would be messed up and Sam's plan would be ruined. He let out a breath slowly into the crisp air, watching it float away. He licked his dry lips and sat up straight. He brought his hand from the side of his head and looked down at it. They were still shaking. Sam brought his hands to his lips in a praying motion and kept them there. Something about sitting that way felt right.

Behind him, he heard Dean moving around. Slightly, he turned his head to see where he was heading. Dean looked at him briefly and shook his head. Something was wrong, Dean knew that. He just wasn't sure what. With a shrug, Dean went into the bathroom and shut the door.

Once he was gone, Sam felt his shoulders slump forward. His breathing quickened a little , tears swelled in his eyes but he kept them at bay. Again, Sam looked out at the world moving around him and he realized that everything would go along just fine without him. The cars wouldn't stop running and dogs wouldn't stop barking. Teachers wouldn't stop teaching and flowers wouldn't stop growing. Children wouldn't stop laughing and most of all, the wouldn't wouldn't stop spinning. As that thought crossed Sam's mind, he felt a hot tear run down the side of his face and fall onto his forearm. Sam watched it roll down his arm and fall onto the window pane. He watched it fall.

Suddenly, he heard the bathroom door open, and he immediately wiped his eyes and calmed himself. He had to keep it together- for now, that is.

He felt Dean's hand on his back and he jumped a little. Dean laughed.

"What's goin' on with you?"

Sam shook his head, trying to keep his back toward him. Again, he wiped his eyes and took in a breath.

He felt Dean shifting his weight behind him. He put his hand on his shoulder.

"Seriously, Sam ," Dean starts. His tone of voice was the one he used when he expected nothing but the truth. Usually, Sam told him the truth, too. But tonight was different.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sam shook his head again. He tried to look as normal and as calm as possible. "Nothing," Sam says softly, barely making eye contact. "just a headache."

Dean's eyes narrowed at Sam, not sure if he should believe what Sam was saying. In a way, it was he truth. Sam actually did have a headache, but it was the least of his worries.

He felt Dean squeeze his shoulder a little.

"You sure?" Dean asks, his voice almost gentle now. It was his '_I'm worried about you, but I'm not gonna say it_' voice and Sam knew it. But Sam couldn't blame him. If he knew what Sam was thinking, he'd be more than worried.

Sam nodded and smiled at him; he stood.

"I'm fine okay," he says, "but thank you. You're always looking out for me. Just- - thank you."

Dean looks at Sam questioningly.

"You feeling okay?" he asks. He reaches up at places his hand on Sam's forehead. Usually, Sam would've pushed his hand away before it even came in contact with his head, but tonight was different.

Dean backed away slowly, eyeing Sam carefully. He just didn't know what was wrong with him. But there was something up with him. Dean shook his head.

"You hungry?"

Sam shook his head, even though at that exact moment, his stomach growled.

"No, I'm good."

Sam sits down on the side of his bed. He puts his head down, running his hand through his hair.

Dean was silent of a second. He pointed over his shoulder toward the door.

"I'm gonna go get something to eat... you coming?"

Sam shook his head again.

"No, I think I'll stay here."

Dean was hesitant for a second. He walked backwards slowly with a confused look on his face. He reached backwards for the doorknob and opened it. "Alright, well I'll be right back, okay?"

Sam sat forward and nodded.

"Be careful, okay?"

Dean looked at him with a weird expression. But he nodded anyway. "I will," he says as he walks out the door.

* * *

It's been about ten minutes since Dean left and Sam finally felt ready. As ready as he was going to get anyway.

Sam paced the room. By now, tears were running from his eyes fluently and there was no more reason to push them away.

He breathed in and out deeply. His heart was pounding hard in his chest.

Sitting back down on the bed, he looked down at the bottle in hand. He shook it a little, hearing the pills slapping either side of the bottle. He uncapped it.

His lip trembled.

Tears slid and fell.

His heart raced.

His vision was blurry.

With shaking hands, he reached into the bottle and placed four tablets on his tongue. He dry swallowed them with ease. Which was weird, he'd never dry swallowed _anything_ before.

Almost immediately, he felt the headache evaporate into thin air.

Liking the feeling, Sam took two more.

Then, two more...

Then three...

Then however many were left...

Sam's eyes bulged a little. A weird and scary feeling washed over him. A feeling that he didn't like.

He could hear his blood pumping in his hears.

Almost immediately after that he could feel his heart slowing down...

* * *

On his way home, Dean cell phone rang.

He looked down at it. Sam's cell : it read.

Dean put the phone to his ear and answered it.

"I'm on may way now-"

_"Dean, I'm sorry..."_

There was something about the tone of Sam's voice that scared him. He gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"Sammy, what's wrong?"

Sam's shallow breathing was his only reply.

He gulped.

"Sam-"

_"I think I did something stupid..."_

Dean felt his breath hitch in his throat. He couldn't swallow, he barely could speak.

"Sam," he says, his voice cracking. "What'd you do?"

Silence.

"Sam?"

Nothing.

Dean pressed harder on the gas pedal.

"SAM!"

_"Dean, I'm so sorry..." _Sam whispered.

Just then, the phone slipped out of his hand.

* * *

Dean cried like he'd never cried before.

His eyes were bloodshot red.

He couldn't catch his breath.

Pacing the hospital hallway, he did all he could to keep himself from breaking everything in sight.

_"I'm sorry, your brother's gone..."_

The doctor's voice echoed in his head.

Dean covered his ears in frustration, trying to block the voice out. If anything, it only made the voice louder.

_"... your brother's gone..."_

Dean's fist came in contact with the wall, cracking it.

The people around him jumped a little, moving away.

The guilt that Dean felt was almost unbearable.

Why did he leave?

Why didn't he save Sam?

He was sure he was the worst brother in the world.

Sure, he knew something was wrong, but he didn't think it was something this serious.

Dean would never in a million years think that Sam was capable of suicide.

Looking through the open glass, Dean seen Sam's lifeless body lying on the table with a blanket covering him from the neck down. For what seemed like forever the doctors tried to save Sam. They did CPR, pumped his stomach, they gave him blood, they gave him oxygen... but nothing worked.

With heavy tears flowing out of Dean's eyes, he reached up and touched the glass.

" I'm sorry, Sammy. I - I didn't know," Dean struggled to find the words to say. There were too many thoughts running though his head to try to say them a loud. So he left it at this : " I love you, Sam. I really hope you remember that. I- I just hope you're in a better place now. A place where you're happy all the time... a place without all of this evil... I bet you're with Mom and Jess, right?" Dean smiled ever so slightly. "Yeah, I know you are. And I know you're happy." Dean wiped the tears from his eyes. "Tell Mom I love her, too... I'll miss you little brother; more than you'll ever know or understand."

Dean watched his hand slide down the glass.

Sam thought that once he was gone, everything would be better. He thought that things would the the same; that the world would keep spinning without him. But he was wrong. Dean's world had come to a complete stop, and it probably won't _ever_ start again.

* * *

**Soooo? What'cha think?**

**Too dramatic?**

**Eh, I tried. **

****Something you didn't know: I was actually going to do this for 'Stonewall' , but I decided against it****

**Anyway, PLEASE review!**

**And check out my other story 'All Jokes Aside'.**


	17. Secret

_***Requested By: Rit. Sam and fayesanuttytart ***_

_Hello again (:_

**Summary: It was a secret he never should've kept to himself...**

**I wrote this really quick. Sorry. I just felt the need to update this. It's been a little while.**

**Send requests, send requests, send requests, send requests (:**

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It's been a day... almost two. In the bathroom, Sam stood in the mirror with his shirt up. He looked down in worry at the three scratch marks going down his side. They were pretty deep, probably needed stitches or something, but Sam felt he could handle it. Just the other day they had a little run-in with something Dean called Wolf-Man. He and Sam had gotten into it and he clawed Sam pretty good. At first Sam didn't even know he was cut. Honestly, he didn't feel it. Maybe too much adrenaline pumping through him at the time?

Sam was on the ground, face up. The Wolf-Man was on top of his, growling at him; taunting him. Sam had bucked and tossed the creature to the side as best he could, reaching for his gun at the same time. Unfortunately, the wolf didn't like that too much and he gripped the side of Sam and pulled him away from the gun. Then, at that moment in time, Sam thought that he had simply grabbed his jacket when he pulled him, but apparently he had took three good chunks out of Sam's side.

A moment later Dean had came to Sam's rescue. He shot that damned thing three times in the back and it disappeared into thin air. It was gone.

But that was a day ago. Now, Sam was in pain like you couldn't imagine. He couldn't sit down, it hurt too much. He could stand up, it burned like hell. He couldn't breathe, the uneasiness was almost unbearable. He couldn't stop breathing, either, that was obvious. Sam was stuck in a for way crossroads. The logical thing would be to tell Dean, have him fix it or take him to the hospital. But the thing about that is Dean's been in one of the worst moods Sam had seen him in in a long time. Maybe it was because they'd been searching for their father for so long and it still didn't seem like they were getting any closer. Also, Sam was twenty two for Christ sake. He was pretty sure he could handle this by himself.

Sam sighed.

The more he stared at the wounds, he tried to convince himself that they didn't look as bad as they actually did. They had stopped bleeding that night when he first got them, but it took a night of suffering. Sam had wasted two of his shirts that night, plastering them to his side. He had to sleep on his stomach that night, making sure that they had pressure on them at all times. Sam made whimpering sounds when he had moved unconsciously in his sleep. But it wasn't loud enough to wake Dean and Sam was thankful for that. The last thing Sam needed was Dean upset with him for not speaking up about the wounds he had received while getting his ass kicked.

Gingerly, Sam tapped his finger on one of the wounds and hissed in pain as his stomach sucked in reflexively. Sam panted for a minute, he began to see black dots swarming around his vision. Sam rubbed his eyes, trying to get them to clear. With his other hand he steadied himself against the sink and closed his eyes. Everything was spinning. That was never a good sign. Sam tried to will himself to calm down. He tried to make his heart slow, he dried to make his eyesight clear, but it wasn't working. Suddenly, Sam felt his knees begin to buckle and he held on to the sink with both hands. His shirt dropped down, stinging his side again. Sam cried out, but instantly covered his mouth, trying to muffle it. He bent over in pain, resting his head on the edge of the counter the sink was built in to. But leaning over only make things worse. He shot up into an upright position and his stomach screamed in pain from the sudden movement.

Sam banged his hand on the sink, angry with himself for not controlling the pain properly. For a moment, he held his breath. The burning in his stomach had dulled down to a sizzle, but it still was killing Sam. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't move, probably couldn't speak, he could hardly breathe. But he couldn't and wouldn't tell Dean. At some point in his life Sam was going to have to learn how to take care of himself. He wasn't always going to have Dean there to make all of his pain go away. So this was something Sam would have to handle on his own.

He soon found that impossible when everything went dark. He remembered his legs hitting the counter and then his head hitting the floor. For a few seconds he just laid there, he couldn't move. He could hear his heart in his ears and the blood pumping in his veins. It literally felt his whole body shake with every heartbeat.

That's when breathing got hard. Sam tugged at his shirt collar because it felt like it was choking him. Sam gasped for air but failed at getting anything into his lungs.

He couldn't hear anything, so he was startled by Dean literally busting through the door. Dean was on his knees and at Sam's side in no time. Sam could tell he was scared. His eyes were huge and his mouth was moving rapidly. Sam didn't even attempt to read his lips, he knew it was useless. Letting his eyes wander, Sam stared up at the light above them. He wondered if he was going to die. He wondered if he was imagining all of this.

He felt something shake him and he looked over at Dean. He was shaking his head back and forth, his eyes watery. He seen Dean's hands waving at him in a calming motion. Sam bet that he was trying to tell him not to worry and that everything was going to be okay. Even though Sam wanted to believe it, he couldn't. Something wasn't right. All of this shouldn't have happened just because of a few wounds on his side. Sam felt his eyes beginning to get heavy and he was unfairly tempted to let them shut, but Dean wouldn't allow that.

Sam's hearing was back...barely. It was fading in and out; just like his vision and soon to be his consciousness.

"...didn't you tell me?"

His eyes lingered in Dean's face. Letting them fall for a minute, he seen that his shirt was up and Dean was looking closely at the wounds. If Sam could sigh, he would've.

The look in Dean's eye let him know that he was thinking. He was probably debating if he could get to the hospital quicker than he could drive to it.

Just then, Dean looked down at him, worry clearly etched into his face, and he petted the side of Sam's hair, saying something. Then he got up and exited the room.

Almost instantly, Dean returned with his cellphone to his ear.

He was calling 911.

His talking was frantic.

His eyes were huge.

His heart was racing.

Sam's eyes got heavier and he couldn't keep them open anymore. Seconds later, he was in total and complete darkness.

-OO-OO-OO-

When Sam had woken up again he was in a hospital bed, barely awake and aware. The one thing that was clear to him was Dean sitting beside him, smiling slightly.

"Hey, kiddo."

Sam was quiet, trying to find his voice. When Sam didn't answer immediately, Dean took hold of his hand, leaning in forward more.

"Sam, can you hear me?"

Softly, Sam nodded.

"Yea'..." he choked out. His throat was dry.

Dean sighed in relief.

"What the hell was that, man? Why didn't you tell me that wolf-thing got you?"

Sam cleared his throat.

"You were mad..."

Dean rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

"Just because I'm in a bad mood doesn't mean that I don't wanna know if you get hurt," Dean says. He hits Sam's arm playfully. "You've gotta tell me, Sam."

Looking away, Sam nodded. "S'rry."

Dean smiled. "Just don't let it happen again," he says, laughing a little when he sounded just like their father.

Sam smiled, too.

Ruffling his hair, Dean sat back.

"G'back to sleep, Sammmy. I'll be here when you wake up," he promised.

Within no time, Sam's eyes were closed and he was back in dreamland.

Just before he had drifted away, he made a mental note not to hide anything from Dean again... especially injuries. Sam guessed some secrets just weren't worth keeping.

* * *

**I put both of your stories together because what you both requested was very similar, but if it wasn't what you were looking for, just let me know. **

**Anyway, PLEASE review!**

**And check out my other story 'All Jokes Aside' and let me know what you think. The support would be greatly appreciated. **

**Also, please go vote on my poll and let me know which idea you like better!**

**Thanks you [:**


	18. Silver Bullet

**_*Requested By: Wildcat and NetMyne01*_**

**_Summary: _**If you asked Dean, he'd say he should've been more careful...

**Send Requests , Send Requests , Send Requests , Send Requests , Send Requests **

**

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**

_The full moon was the only light that had shined into the thick woods that night. Owls occasionally cooed and the crickets sang an out of tune song. Other than that, their footsteps were the only sound that could be heard. Running hard, the brother's heavy feet cracked and crushed innocent twigs and insects on the ground below them. They were on a hunt. Sam led the way by a step or two with Dean following closely behind. They dodged tall trees and hopped over fallen logs. They were focused. Behind Sam, Dean fumbled with the gun in his hands. He checked his pockets, and made sure they were full with rock-salt. He smiled; they were. _

_Out of nowhere, a hairy blur flashed in front of Sam who stopped abruptly. Dean crashed into his back and pushed him forward. They both toppled to the wet ground. _

_"What the hell, Sam?"_

_He shushed him. Sam cover Dean's mouth. _

_"Shut up," he mumbled in a yelling tone. _

_They looked back and forth, fully alert. But the night was silent again. Sam's eyes darted to the left, then to the right. Nothing but trees on either side of them. Slowly, he removed his heavy hand from over his brother's mouth who was seconds from biting his finger if he didn't take his hand away soon. Once Sam's hand was gone, Dean smacked his shoulder. "What the hell?" he repeated. _

_Sam looked at him weirdly. "Didn't you see that?"_

_Dean shrugged. _

_Sam frowned. _

_Obviously, that was a 'no'. _

_Sam pointed in the direction the creature ran in. "You're telling me that you didn't see that big, hairy, freak of nature run past us like five seconds ago?"_

_Dean's eyes widened and he shrugged again. _

_Lowering his head in defeat, Sam let out a breath. _

_Just then, the creature ran by again. It growled at the top of it's lungs, and pierced the brother's ears. They covered them the best they could but it didn't so much help. Once it stopped, they heard it's heavy footsteps circling them. Dean felt his heart pick up speed, and his breathing increased. His breathing matched Sam's perfectly, but they both weren't paying enough attention to notice. Dean shifted, and brought himself to his knees. Sam looked around carefully, and looked for any sudden movement. _

_Again, a loud yell rang across the woods, but this time it was accompanied by Dean's, too. Sam's head swung backward, not quite understanding what was happening. But then he looked down he seen three long scratched on Dean's left upper arm. He held it in pain. From the corner of their eye, they seen the hairy flash sprint away again and into the darkness. _

_Sam held his hands out. _

_"Tell me you didn't see that!"_

_Dean nodded, his face wincing with pain. "I felt it, too. Damn, that son of a bitch is strong."_

_He stood, still holding his arm. "What the hell was that thing?" Dean asked. _

_Sam shook his head. "Werewolf... I think. You know what that means, right?"_

_Immediately, Dean felt his back pocket, and prayed that he had what they needed. He sighed in relief when he did. Slowly, he brought it out. _

_"Yup," he says, sliding it into the gun. "Silver bullet to the head..."_

_***~VFCGurl~***_

Somehow , someway, they had gotten separated.

Dean held his gun up strongly, ready for anything that dared to jump out at him. He had to keep an eye out, though. Sam was around here somewhere, he had to keep that in mind. But them again, Dean shrugged. He was pretty sure he could tell Sam apart from a werewolf. Dean cracked a small smile.

His heart was at a steady rate. It had to be or he'd get too anxious; but he needed to stay sharp.

Tightening his grip in the gun handle, Dean walked slowly. He kept his pace steady.

In the distance, he heard footsteps. Something running. Running toward Dean.

Thunking quickly, Dean stepped behind one of the million trees in his eyesight and hid behind it.

The footsteps got closer...

And closer...

And closer...

Before he knew it, they were about twenty yards away.

It was dark.

Dean couldn't tell you what happened, but once he got a clear shot, he took it.

_Bang!_

The thing stopped running and fell to the ground.

Dean stood quickly, and walked over to it. Once he was close enough, he literally felt his heart stop.

What was lying on the floor wasn't the werewolf... it was Sam.

Dean dropped to his knees.

"Oh God..."

He cupped the side of Sam's face. Blood was running down the side of his face.

Dean's breathing was almost as rugged as Sam's. He was frozen. He didn't know what to do. What could he do? Dean had shot him. Dean had shot his brother - _in the head._

Calming himself, Dean took a closer look.

No, he was wrong.

He could've shot Sam in the head. If he did, Sam would be dead already. And his rough, winded breathing told him other wise.

"Sammy," he whispered, shaking him a little. Sam's head bobbled back and forth unconsciously.

Dean bit his lip, guilt pushing away his fear.

He shook him harder.

"Sammy, c'mon!"

_What the hell is your problem? How could you be so stupid? You just told yourself to stay aware! You knew he was out there... all of this is your fault!_

Dean tried to shake the thoughts out of his head, but found it impossible.

_You've killed him... you've killed your little brother. You're a monster..._

Dan shook his head so hard it made his brain hurt.

"Sam!"

_You're such a screw up! You never do anything right ! You **can't **do anything right! _

Setting the gun down, Dean lifted Sam's head onto his shoulder, and that's when he finally got a really good look. Dean sighed slightly when he seen that the bullet only grazed the side of Sam's head, but it sure knocked him out pretty good. It looked deep. Really deep. God only knows how much damage it did. Taking the end of his shirt, Dean pressed it to Sam's head. He groaned in pain slightly, but didn't wake.

Dean shook him.

"Open your eyes, bro..."

_You're a failure! Look what you did... you could've kill him! You're so careless, you deserve to be alone..._

This time, Dean shook him hard. His head knocked against Dean's shoulder. Dean felt Sam's shaky hand press against his ribs, pushing him back. He seen Sam's legs kicking at the floor a little, like the thought he was still running. Dean pressed on his shoulders, trying to keep him in place to make sure he wouldn't hurt himself anymore. He shushed him.

"Take it easy," he says. "Just calm down."

Dean could feel his heart slowing down and his body beginning to relax.

Sam lifted his head. He seen everything fuzzy and distant, almost. He squinted at Dean in the darkness.

"Dean?"

He nodded.

"The one and only."

Sam was quiet he looked around. He winced again at the pain and reached his hand up to where the skin was no longer there. Dean grabbed his wrist before he made contact and caused more pain to himself.

Sam was obviously confused. He looked at Dean as if he didn't even recognize him. "What happened to me?"

Dean tugged at his shirt collar uneasily.

"Are you okay?" he asks, changing the subject.

Sam nodded, not exactly sure if he was actually alright.

Dean shook his head in relief. He reached down, hugging Sam who looked around, completely confused now. His head hurt like hell, and he didn't know why. Dean was clearly upset, and he didn't know why. They were in the middle of the woods, and he didn't know why. And now Dean's hugging him for what seemed like no reason, and he didn't know why. Clearly, he was missing something. So he pulled back from Dean's hug and looked in straight in the eye, letting him know what he expected him to tell the truth.

"Dean, let go," he says softly. After another moment, Dean released him, but kept his hands on his shoulders keeping him steady. "What happened to me?"

Sam looked closer, in the moonlight he seen two small tears run down the side of Dean's face. Sam was sure his expression was priceless.

"And why are you _crying_?"

Almost instantly, Dean wiped the tears away. He cleared his throat.

"Dean-"

"Sam, I'm sorry."

Sam shook his head, still not understanding. "For what? Dean, what happened?"

Dean looked away. "I didn't see you, I swear. I thought-"

Sam shrugged, trying to see what Dean was getting at. "You thought what?"

Licking his lips, Dean shook his head. He pulled Sam into a hug again. "I thought I'd killed you, Sammy."

Just then, Sam thought back to his horrible headache and then the gun in Dean's hand and suddenly it all made sense.

But this time, Sam hadn't pulled back from the hug. He stayed there for a minute and let Dean hear his heart beat and feel his breathing, giving him reassurance that he was alive and that he was alright. Then, he hugged Dean back, letting him know that he forgave him.

_***~VFCGurl~***_

The road back to the car was a hard one.

But every time Sam stumbled, Dean was there to keep him steady.

When Sam's world began to spin, Dean was there to slow it back down.

And when Sam needed to stop, Dean stopped.

This went on for about twenty five minutes until the Impala and in plain sight.

Dean smiled.

"You see that, Sam? She's right there." He points to the car.

But my now, Sam was exhausted and was closer to being carried by Dean than he was just being supported by him.

Dean opened the passenger seat door and slid Sam inside. He went to the drivers side.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he says softly. Dean was pretty sure he was sleep or something.

But he wasn't.

Lifting one hand, Sam patted Dean's shoulder.

"It's okay, Dean. I'm gonna be okay."

Dean smiled and nodded as he put the key in the ignition and turned on the car.

"I'm not going anywhere," Sam says in a soft voice. He let his head rest on the seat, trying his best to hide the pain as to not make Dean feel anymore guilty. "I promise."

* * *

**Hope you liked it. **

**To: Wildcat & NetMyne01- One of you requested for Sam to get shot and another requested for Dean to shoot Sam, so I put it together. Hope you don't mind and still enjoyed it (: If not, just let me know and I'll write another one, I guess. **

**To everyone else: Please let me know what you think. Please review.**

**- - I really liked this. I should make it into a full story some day LOL :P **

***ATTENTION*- I have recently posted Chapter 1 to my newest story called 'From Afar', and I think some of you would really enjoy it. If you do decide to check it out, please let me know what you think of that, too. Feedback is really appreciated! Thank you! **


	19. On Duty

**_*Requested By: Lost in a Forest*_**

**_Summary: _**A dad's gotta do what a dad's gotta do...

**Send Requests , Send Requests , Send Requests , Send Requests , Send Requests **

**

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**

The room was a wreck.

They'd been attacked.

Their weapons bag was far too out of reach for either of them. All three were on the ground. Bloody.

John was on the far wall of the room. His ears were ringing and he was a little dizzy, but nothing major. His arm was killing him, and he couldn't remember hitting it on the way down. When the demons invaded he, Sam, and Dean all scrambled. They each looked for something to defend themselves with, but it wasn't quick enough. They attacked for a good ten-fifteen minutes and John wasn't sure why. They were demons trapped in human form, sure. But they weren't after anything specific. It was weird. John expected them to look for the Colt or something. He'd feel less clueless if they robbed them for their wallets, anything! But they didn't. Maybe it was a warning for what's to come? Maybe it was to put a little scare in them? Either way John didn't care. He'd have plenty of time to think about that later. Right now his mind only registered one thing : help my boys.

Dean rolled over slowly. Glass rolled off his back and clattered on the floor, breaking the chilling silence. They were all in shock. None of them spoke out loud. Dean pulled his arm from under his body. He kept his head down, watching blood from the side of his face splatter on the floor in front of him in a pattern like a ticking clock. With his other hand, Dean reached up and touched it lightly and hissed at the pain he felt. He tried to ignore it; like always does with pain. Whether it's physical or emotional pain, Dean always tries to find a way to ignore it. But this? This was something he couldn't ignore. The pain he felt in his chest was too much to ignore. It hurt more and more each second. Every breath made it worse. What was wrong with him. But Dean quickly pushed that to the side. He couldn't think about himself now. Right now his mind only registered one thing : go help Sam.

At this point, Sam wasn't sure if he was okay. He could hardly remember what had happened. His mind was just- blank. He understood he was hurt. That was obvious to his body. But for a second he couldn't understand why. But then it all came rushing back to him. They were attacked. Thrown around the room like a rag doll while the demons tore apart the room. Sam wasn't sure what they were looking for or what they took- if they'd taken anything at all. Sam remembered watching Dean go flying first. His back slammed hard against the wall. Sam was next. His hand was slammed hard on the ceiling and it held him there for a second. But he was already dazed. The room was spinning. Before he knew it, he was being thrown from one side of the room to the other. Each of the Winchester men were enduring their own type of beating, but it was pretty obvious that Sam and Dean were getting it the worse. Sure, John was flung around a time or two. But the brothers were thrown through the bathroom door, Dean hit his arm on the mirror and he fell to the floor. Immediately after his fall, invisible kicks were made to his stomach . Sam's head was snagged on the doorframe as he was swept from the floor and for a second his vision went black. It cleared just in time for him to see himself being dropped from the floor and onto the ground. It happened too quick. He didn't have a chance to block his fall or anything.

And he hit _hard_.

He was sure he heard something crack. A rib or two, probably. A second or two after that, Sam's breathing got rugged and painful. It hurt to take in air, so he was positive it'd hurt to move. His head was pounding and fuzzy. For a while, he couldn't logically comprehend what was going on. Be was sure that was a bad sign, but wasn't thinking good enough to realize it. Everything at that moment was unclear to him. Only one thing registered clearly in his mind : go help Dean.

**_**+**+ Always+**+**_**

When the demons had finally gone and everything was done, John was the first one to his feet. He looked around the room, gathering his thoughts and making sure he was actually as okay as he felt. He wasn't hurt that bad. He looked across the room, into the bathroom where Dean's hand was outstretched. John blinked. Pushing himself to his knees, then to his feet, John grunted; but the pain wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. In no time, he was on the ground, shaking Dean.

"Dean," he called, pushing on his shoulder. "C'mon, son."

Dean stirred, his eyes glided open, and he stared up at his father with concern. Clearly he was in pain.

"Where's it hurt?"

Dean had to think about that for a second; he wasn't exactly sure.

"'M arm... my head..."

John nodded, reaching down and attempting to pull him t his feet. "Can you stand?"

Dean nodded.

For a second, everything spin, but it slowed down almost instantly. It didn't hurt as much as he was expecting- but it hurt like hell. His head was killing him and his arm had this tingling feeling. Maybe he was just laying on it too long?

John put an arm around Dean's shoulder, letting him know what he was there for balance if he needed it. But his arm was pushed off forcefully when Dean spotted Sam by the back, his face toward the wall.

"Why didn't you get him first?" Dean hissed, making his way over to his brother on the floor.

Dean dropped to his knees, a second later, John was there.

"Sam?"

John carefully rolled him over. The side of his face was bruised. It was beginning to turn a purplish color.

"Sam!" Dean called a little louder, hoping to get arise out of him.

His eyes fluttered open. He stared up at the ceiling aimlessly and emptily. Dean blinked hard. Before he had a chance to say something, John had cut in.

Gently, he pushed Dean to the side. It didn't take a brain surgeon to know that Sam was obviously hurt more than either one of them. John reached down, putting one arm around his upper back and sat him forward. Sam moaned audibly as his head pushed into John's chest, just under his chin. John rubbed his back gently. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

"We've gotta get him to the bed," Dean says a loud, looking down at his father. John nodded.

Dean reached down, lifting Sam's arm up and around his neck. He hand firm grip around his waist, keeping his balance. Dean looked to the side at his brother. His head hung loosely. His feet were barely keeping him up. John put his arm around Sam also, and Dean gave him a suspicious look.

"I've got him, Dean. You're hurt too much. You can't carry him."

Dean begged to differ. As far as he was concerned, he was _never_ too hurt to take care of Sam. He shook his head. "I've got it, Dad. It's okay."

The two older Winchester glanced at eachother and John was surprised at the tension he felt.

"I've got him, Dad," Dean states sternly before he heads with Sam to the bed, leaving John with no choice but to follow close behind.

Once Sam was lying on the bed, Dean was pleased to find that he was at least kind of conscious. His eyes were open- barely, as he looked up at the ceiling like it was something special. John snapped his fingers, trying to get his attention.

"Sam, can you hear me?"

Sam didn't respond.

Dean began to get dizzy. He stumbled backward, reaching for his father as he did. Luckily, John was able to keep him vertical.

"Whoa, whoa, Dean. Take a seat, son. Please."

John helped Dean take a seat on the bed across from the one Sam was in. He looked back and forth at both of his children. Both were hurt. Both were in pain. Both were his responsibility.

Thinking quickly, John rushed into the bathroom and got the first aid kit. While in the bathroom, he found a bucket and ripped the end of the towel hanging in the bathroom to make a washcloth. He hurried back over to his boys. Sitting the first aid kit on the table, he went to Sam first, for obvious reasons. He pressed his hand on his forehead and almost immediately felt the heat radiating off him. He had a fever. A climbing one, at that. John cursed. Next, he got rid of Sam's jacket. Then his shirt. Once they were both gone he was able to see the living bruising on his abdomen. John wasn't certain how he got it, but at that point it didn't matter. Reaching down, John ran his hand as softly as he could across his son's stomach, trying to survey the damage. Sam moved, probably trying to escape the pain.

"Sam, I'm sorry," he apologized softly. "Nothing's broken..." he mumbled to himself, turning to the left to check on Dean. "... proabably just bruised ribs..."

John placed his hand on Dean's forehead. His fever was mild, but climbing just like Sam's.

As quickly as he could, John took the bucket into the bathroom and filled it with cold water. He ripped another piece off the towel for Dean then powerwalked into the kitchen.

"Ice... ice... I need ice..."

He grabbed both trays and a plastic bag.

Again, he sat the bucket on the nightstand between both of his sons. He dunked both of the washcloths in the ice water. After he wrung them out, he placed them on both of their foreheads. Sam sighed softly with relief. Finally, something that broke through the sauna he felt like he was in. Dean, on the other hand, his eyes shot open quickly. Startled by the coolness of the cloth. John placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You're okay... you're gonna be okay," he promises. Dean doesn't answer, but he watches his eyes shift over to Sam whose having more of a rough time than him.

"Sam... has he woken up yet?"

John shrugs. "Not really."

Dean sighs.

Taking the ice tray, John pops out the ice into the plastic bag and places it softly on Sam's stomach. Almost instantly, he notices Sam's breathing speed up. He sits on the side of the bed, patting the side of his face.

"Sam, calm down, son. Just breathe. I'll be alright. I've got cha."

His breathing slowed. His face relaxed. John smiled.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Dean trying to get up from bed. Within seconds, he was making sure Dean stayed there.

"Slow down there, Champ," John says. He pats Dean's shoulder. "Just stay down, okay."

Dean shakes his head, pointing in Sam's direction.

"Sammy..."

John shakes his head.

"Just let me handle it, okay. I think I'm capable of taking care of my own son, don't'cha think?"

Dean grins, looking away.

John patted his chest, nodding at him. Right after, he retook his seat next to Sam. John could see already that this was going to be a long night...

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**To be continued...**

**Yup, the first 'TBC' chapter in 'Agony' :]**

Sooooo, I hope you liked it ! Please review.

Got requests? SEND EM IN!

Also, please go check out my other stories 'INSANE' and 'FROM AFAR'

Thankyou (:


	20. On Duty Pt 2

**_********** EVEN BEFORE YOU READ, PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT MY PEN NAME HAS CHANGED FROM 'VFCGurl' TO 'Devil917'. I HAD TO CHANGE IT. I'M SORRY. BUT STILL, ENJOY ALL MY STORIES. OTHER THAN THAT, EVERYTHING IN STILL THE SAME.************_**

**_*Requested By: Lost in a Forest*_**

**_Summary: _**A dad's gotta do what a dad's gotta do...

**Send Requests , Send Requests , Send Requests , Send Requests , Send Requests **

**

* * *

**

He had to keep them safe. John lined every possible entry way with salt as soon as both of his boys were sleep, but he still didn't feel safe enough. Something was off. Something was wrong. Standing, John made his way to the window. He pressed his back to the wall and peeked out onto the street. Everything looked normal, but then again, normal was something neither of them knew the meaning to. Outside cars went by, and people walked around. John pulled the curtains closed, careful as to not knock the salt out of place and made sure the lock on the window was secure. Nodding his approval, John walked calmly back over to where the two beds were.

When he reentered the bed area he had to smile. Their once restless bodies had settled down and accepted sleep finally. Even though the nightstand was separating them, their heads were turned in each other's directions. It was probably their last attempt to make sure the other was alright before they drifted on to sleep. Sam's hand was resting on the ice pack that was till on his stomach, even though it was beginning to turn to water. Dean's arm was hung off the bed. Both still had high fevers. John could see that from where he was standing. But rest was all they really needed. They both be as good as new in about a week.

John walked to Sam's bed and lifted the bag of ice off his stomach. Almost instantly he noticed Sam's weary eyes flutter open. They darted around the room slowly. After John put the bag down, he took a seat on the edge of Sam's bed.

"Hey, Sammy," he says gently. "How you holding up?"

Sam blinked at him, but didn't answer.

Reaching out, John touched his shoulder. "Sam?"

Slowly, Sam's eyes focused on John and he smirked, trying his best to tell him that he'll be alright without saying a word. Sam's eyes squinted at his father. Clearly, he didn't understand. At his sides, he noticed Sam's hand fumbling with the bed-sheets as if trying to get a better grasp on where he was at. His tired eyes landed on John and he blinked. "Dad..." John nodded. "Dad, what happened to me?"

"We were attacked. Damn demons," John shook his head. "Not even sure what they were after. They didn't take anything. I don't know."

Sam's eyes slid to the right, in Dean's directions.

"Dean?"

John looked behind him and on Dean's sleeping form. When he realized that he was blocking Sam's view of him, he stood up.

By now, Dean's eyes were open and he was alert. He quickly looked up at his father, then other at Sam who had drifted back off to sleep before he had a chance to talk to him. Dean coughed as he sat forward in his bed and threw his legs over the side in attempt to stand up. Almost a second later, John pressed both of his heavy hands on his shoulders, trying to keep him on the bed, but Dean didn't want to listen. "Dad, I'm fine. I feel better. I promise," he says in the struggle. Dean forcefully brushed his father's hands off him and stood up.

"You shouldn't worry about me so much, Dad."

John's face scrunched. "What are you talking about, Dean? You're my son. Of course I'm going to worry about you. Especially since you're hurt-"

"Sam's hurt worse, you know that. And even if he wasn't, he needs your attention more than I do. All you guys do is argue. I'm tired of it. Sam's tired of it, too."

John shakes his head, stepping closer to Dean. "I don't always start it."

"What're you? Five? It's not about who started it, Dad. Why do you have to argue at all? Sam's hardheaded, I know. Believe me, I know. But you're the parent. And until a couple years ago, you were the adult. You're supposed to have enough sense no not get into it with him like that."

In that second, John couldn't explain it, but he was suddenly furious. Whether it was from Dean standing up to him, or because someway he knew Dean was right, he didn't know. But he was upset. Without a word, he exited the bed area and headed for the window. He heard Dean sigh heavily. Then he heard the sound of Dean taking a seat on the side of Sam's bed. John didn't turn around. He couldn't bring himself to. So he stared out the window aimlessly and listen to Dean talk.

"Just go back to sleep; it's okay," he said softly. Sam must've woken up.

A few seconds later he heard, "Dad's mad at me?"

John shook his head. He felt- ashamed.

"He's not mad at you, Sammy. No one is. Just rest, alright?"

For a while, there was silence. Then he heard slight mumbling. He was pretty sure it was Dean, though. His voice was just soft enough for only Sam to hear and he was sure that's just how he wanted it. In that moment, John began to question the type of father he really was.

He heard footsteps behind him. Then a hand on his shoulder.

"Dad-"

"You do a really great job with him, Dean. I'm proud of you, son."

Dean shrugs. "Just doing what you taught me," he tries to reason.

John nodded. "But you do it well. I think that's great."

John began to count the seconds until Dean tried to apologize.

_1...2...3-_

"Listen, Dad. What I said before-"

John shook his head. "Save you're breath, son. You were right. Don't apologize for being right. Don't apologize for saying what you believe."

"But I _didn't_ mean it. I pretty much called you a bad father- which you're not. I was just... upset."

Nodding, John pats his shoulder. "It's alright, Dean."

He walks past Dean and over to Sam's bed. He rests his hand on his forehead, measuring his temperature. "It might've went up a bit. Would you mind getting more ice?"

Dean doesn't hesitate. He walks into the kitchen, opens the freezer, and takes out the ice tray. Carrying it briskly hands it to his father who drops about four ice cubes into the water and swirls them around a little. Dean watches as he takes the washcloth and dunks it into the ice water and then wrings out the excess water. After folding the cloth, he places it on Sam's head who accepts the coolness of it with a thankful sigh. He presses his head into Johns hand, causing it to brush through his hair. John smiled. Dean smiled, too.

Again, John reclaims his seat at the edge of Sam's bed. Dean goes to his.

"Why don't you try to get some rest, son," John says to Dean who was beginning to yawn.

"No, I'm alright."

John's eyes narrowed at him. "Dean, it'll be alright. I'll wake you if Sam lifts a finger, makes a sound, or moves a muscle. Deal?"

Dean smiled. "You're being dramatic."

John shrugged. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

Dean doesn't answer. Instead, he laid his head back on the pillow. Within minutes he was asleep also.

***+-*+- On Duty-+*-+***

John packed what he needed and headed for the door.

As much as he wanted to stay with his sons, he had to go. He was harmful to them; putting them right in the danger zone. John wouldn't have that. The demons were after him, he knew that. The attack they gave was just a warning. There was no wonder what Sam and Dean were clearly hurt more than he was. They were showing John how much of a threat to his boys he actually was.

John needed to leave and he needed to leave now.

Sam would get better. Dean would handle it. He always does. Recently, John had come to realize how independent both of his sons were. Dean was more than capable of taking care of Sam since he was little.

Before he left, he walked over to Sam's bed. He took the cloth off his head and rewet it again in the water. Once he wrung it out, he placed it back on his head. John ruffled his hair. "Get better, son. I'm pulling for you, okay?"

Then he turned to Dean. Gently, he rested his hand on his shoulder. "Take care of your brother, alright. I know I don't have to tell you. Even if I didn't, you'd do it anyway. And I love the fact that you have the mindset. You're doing a great job, Dean. Better than me, that's for sure... I'm proud of you."

With that, John picked up his bag and left. Just as he'd done way too many times before...

* * *

**Well, I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think.  
Also, please go check out my two other stories 'Insane' and 'From Afar'. You might like them [:  
Again, sorry the the name change. **


	21. ANNOUNCEMENT!

*****THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER! BUT YOU SHOULD READ THIS*****

**I've decided to end 'Agony' at 20 chapters. But I'm starting a new request series called 'Misery'. I'll be doing the same thing as 'Agony', just that it'll be a new story. So the next update I do will be in 'Misery'. **

**Yes, still send in your requests. None of that has changed. I just needed a place to stop since it can go on forever and ever. **

**No need to panic. I still have everyone's requests and stuff. And now is the time to just send in any simple request you have. Anything! But all of it will go in 'Misery' when i start it. **

**Get it? Got it? Good [:**

**But if you don't understand, please message me. **

**I encourage you to write in requests for me to write in 'Misery'. Leave them right in a review here and I'll write them down and then publish them in 'Misery'. I'll try to start 'Misery' in a day or so. **

**SO PLEASE LEAVE ANY FINAL REQUESTS AND I'LL SEE YOU IN THE FIRST REQUESTED CHAPTER OF 'MISERY'.  
SAY GOODBYE TO 'AGONY' AND HELLO TO 'MISERY'. SHE'LL BE YOUR NEW BEST FRIEND :) **

**- Devil917 ( a.k.a VFCGurl )**


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